Chapter 23: The Long Road Ahead

"A brilliant move, I must say, Your Grace," Lord Tanton commented during the evening's feast two days later.

It's a good move, but I suppose I should forgive him for exaggerating.

"With Lord Rowan marching south, the Pretender will have no choice but to swing south himself." He regarded Jaehaerys with a wry look. "I suppose Your Grace and Lord Tarly have chosen the field of battle?"

"Lord Tarly has pointed out a few options, yes," Jae replied, mindful of all the people listening in.

He and Lord Tarly along with Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur spent their nights locked away in Lord Fossoway's study, discussing and debating every possible course of action. After Lord Tarly's army arrived in the early afternoon and Lord Tyrell reported that Blackfyre remained in place, they'd come to a decision.

Jae said, "He is most eager to lure the Pretender onto his home turf."

"I should imagine so. Lord Tarly is a great warrior in any setting, but Seven help the man who faces him on familiar ground."

Jae nodded in agreement, pride blossoming in his chest at the memory. I do believe I've won the respect of that rigid man.

Below the dais, the knights and the Lords ate and drank to their heart's content, knowing they might never get another chance. They groped the servant-girls pouring them ale and played dice with their comrades. Every once in a while, a knight would get up and toast Jaehaerys or mock the Blackfyre Pretender. Lord Fossoway's younger brother, Ser Bryan, climbed onto the tables at one point and promised to slay Daemon in single combat.

Who cares if they're idiots as long as they're my idiots. In the past two days, Lord Caswell changed his tune, supporting every one of Jae's proposals. That made Lord Meadows wary, worried his rival had won favor from the King, which made him a very pliant. Merryweather on his own couldn't stir up trouble and so kept his mouth shut for the most part.

Jaehaerys knew better than to feel confident about his little success. The Hightowers, the Rowans, and the Redwynes had yet to join his army. And they'll be much harder to deal with. Gaining the complete support of the Hightowers and the Rowans would be essential, otherwise Redwyne would start causing trouble.

He'd joined Lord Tarly's party in leaving the Red Keep and had ridden on to the Arbor when they reached Cider Hall, promising to return with his entire army at his back. I'll believe it when I see it.

The Hightowers, with their peaceful ways, also inspired little confidence as allies. Fuckers declare neutrality whenever they get the chance. No, they would stir when he defeated Daemon, fearing the consequences of staying out of the war entirely. The thirty thousand men at his disposal had to be enough until then.

"Do you believe the Pretender will try to find you on the battlefield?" Lord Tanton asked as he skewered a piece of lamb.

"If he gets the chance, I'm sure he will. It's been a while since Blackfyre and Dark Sister kissed." Jae forced a smile at the prospect, though in truth he did not intend to gamble the future of the realm on the outcome of a duel.

"Since the Redgrass Field, no? Perhaps the time has come for Blackfyre to return to its rightful owner," Lord Tanton said, toasting Jaehaerys.

"What do you mean?" Ser Loras asked from Jae's left. "I thought Bittersteel and Bloodraven dueled again during the Third Blackfyre Rebellion."

"They did," Jae replied. "But Bittersteel wasn't wielding Blackfyre that time. Haegon hadn't been killed yet." Ser Loras had joined them on the dais to spend his evening with his sister, as he would become a sworn member of the Kingsguard the following morning.

Another white brother from the Reach to add to my collection. Ser Oswell, Ser Barristan, Ser Gerold, and Ser Arthur covered the Riverlands, the Stormlands, the Reach, and Dorne. I have to find someone from the Vale and the North next. He would've liked a knight from the Westerlands, but figured the chances were slim – Ser Jaime had no intentions of outliving his family.

"But that first duel must've been something to see," Ser Loras said, staring into the middle distance.

He's already picturing himself as one of those legends. It'll be a shame if Margaery loses her brother.

"Second only to Daemon Blackfyre's duel with Ser Gwayne Corbray, I've heard it said," Lord Fossoway said.

"No need to rush, Ser Loras, there'll be plenty of fighting to be had soon enough," Jae said. He's older than me, so why do I look upon him as if he were a boy?

Ser Loras bowed his head in acquiescence; Jae's words clearly did not make a dent. Not that he worried too much. It takes time for a young warrior to learn patience, he'd always been told. The cocksure and the arrogant are usually the first to go, but Ser Loras' skill with a sword may keep him alive long enough to see the error of his ways.

"Perhaps it's time for us to retire for the night, my Love," Margaery said from his side, eyes full of promise and lust.

An animal woke in his chest. No harm in indulging on the night before the war. "You're quite right, darling," he said, taking her by the hand and standing up from his seat. "I bid you good night, my Lords and valiant knights. Tomorrow we set forth to glory!"

The men roared in response, raising their cups in a toast.

The two of them retreated to their chambers. Margaery had a hard time keeping his hands off of him, discreetly rubbing his cock through his pants so the Kingsguard wouldn't see. By the time he had her alone in his chambers, he was raring to go – Margaery squealed when he ripped the dress off her body and threw her onto the bed.

A light mist hung over the camp site in the early morning hours. The army had gathered to watch Ser Loras take his oaths as a knight of the Kingsguard. They stood in a wide circle, Jaehaerys standing in the middle of it with only Ser Arthur, Ser Barristan, Ser Gerold, and Ser Oswell at his side.

The grey skies made for a gloomy atmosphere, and though thousands of men stood watching, Jaehaerys could hear the birds singing in the trees nearby. Time for one last piece of theater before the fight.

"Kneel," Jaehaerys ordered and Ser Loras went down on one knee before him, resplendent in his new white armor. "Ser Loras of House Tyrell, why have you come to stand before us today?"

"To become a member of your Kingsguard, Your Grace, to swear my life in your service," Ser Loras said, his strong voice carrying for all to hear.

In his white plate armor, with ruby red dragons adorning his chest, Jae knew he looked imposing staring down the young Knight of Flowers. He nodded to Ser Gerold, his Lord Commander, who stepped forth.

"Do you swear that you shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children?" Ser Gerold asked.

"I do."

"Do you swear that you shall guard the King's life, protect his secrets and give your life for his if need be?"

"I do."

"Are you true in your vows, Ser Loras of House Tyrell?" Ser Gerold asked, his voice stern and strong.

"I am."

Ser Gerold turned to Jaehaerys. "Your Grace, Ser Loras has been judged and tested. He has proven himself worthy of the honor, and you shall find no finer warrior in all the land. I humbly recommend he take his place as a brother of the Kingsguard."

"I thank you, Ser Gerold." Jae's hand went to the hilt of Dark Sister. He drew the blade and held it high in the air for all to see. He lowered it down to Ser Loras' right shoulder then his left. "I bid you rise, Ser Loras Tyrell, a knight of the Kingsguard."

Ser Arthur stepped forth with a white cloak he carefully placed upon his shoulders. As Ser Loras got to his feet, a massive cheer erupted from the men watching, all of them shouting their names.

"Now, men, it is time to march forth to victory!" Jaehaerys shouted, earning another roar of approval. A boy who'd been chosen to be his squire, Lord Fossway's son and Heir Lucas, came forth leading Jae's mighty black warhorse. Jaehaerys mounted it, his Kingsguards right behind him. The men around the circle had been divided into groups and like a coiled snake, they slowly stretched into a line of march, headed straight for Daemon Blackfyre and his men.

Margaery stood atop the battlements with Lady Olenna and the rest of the Ladies present, waving to the soldiers as they passed. Jaehaerys smiled at his cold-blooded wife, recalling the marked difference between his farewell to her and his farewell to Daenerys.

"You're all that's left of me if all should go wrong, you hear me," Jaehaerys said as Dany nuzzled into his chest.

"It won't, it won't," she kept repeating.

"It might," Jaehaerys said. "But that does not mean you have to give up. You must continue my work."

"I can't, Jaehaerys," she said, looking up at him. "They'll just marry me off. I won't get the chance."

"Are you some foolish little girl, hm? To be sold off like some broodmare?" Jae asked, his harsh voice making her pull back. "After this day, you are no longer Dany. You are Princess Daenerys Targaryen, a dragon. If they try to make you marry some fool, then kill him, or control him or do one of a thousand options at your disposal. If there's anything I've shown, it's that you're never out of options. Do you understand me?"

She nodded at his words. She had never seen him like this, must've felt weak to have provoked it. "Fight, Dany, fight for something better if I don't have the chance. If anybody can do it, it's you."

They stood in silence for a few moments before she threw herself at him again and whispered, "Don't lose, Jaehaerys. I beg of you, don't lose."

His farewell to Margaery had been almost casual comparison. He told her to seek refuge in the capital if all should go wrong – Aegon would never hurt her but Daemon might. She only asked what to do if it turned out she carried his child. He could see the potential plots to make him King if the child turned out to be a boy whirring in her mind.

Dread filled him at the thought. Another child to grow up lonely and hated in the Red Keep, to retrace his every step. Something inside of him had hardened at the thought.

Jae gave his wife one final nod and turned his eyes to the long road before him. The Iron Throne waited at the end of it, but thousands of men with blades in their hands waited for him. I shall kill them all if I have to. Images of blood and battle flashed through his mind. Screaming men-at-arms attacking him with axes raised, lines of knights in glimmering armor charging, he saw it all as clear as day.

They passed leagues before Jaehaerys woke from his reverie to find no one had noticed where his mind had wandered off to. They rode in silence – Jaehaerys, his Kingsguard, and Lord Tarly. They marched along the southern bank of the Mander, the river guiding them right into the arms of their enemy.

Beautiful country, Jaehaerys observed, watching the greenery stretch as far as the eyes can see. The entire land felt alive, from the blooming flowers to the magnificent trees and the squirrels climbing up and down the branches they rode under. The soft hum of the river provided them with calming background noise and Jae took his time to appreciate all of it. To appreciate life and how fortunate he'd always been to get to experience such wondrous beauties.

They rode until his ass became one giant blister and made camp by the edge of the river in the evening. Jae did not bother holding a war council or going out among his men. A rider had come from a nearby holdfast, informing them that Blackfyre had crossed the river. The armies were three days march apart, though Jae suspected they would meet sooner.

"Blackfyre knows he must hurry, or find himself surrounded from all sides," he told his Lords when they answered his summons. They stood before his tent, the crackling of the fire bathing them in a warm, flickering light. Jaehaerys spoke in a calm and measured voice, tiny tendrils of ice crawling up his back.

"He will rush into this battle and we will let him." The men nodded in agreement and Jae got a savage sort of satisfaction from the lack of objections. He looked to Lord Tarly. "What is that village you mentioned, Lord Tarly? Black Tree, was it?"

"Aye, Your Grace," Lord Tarly said. "Lovely ground."

"Tomorrow we set off for it. Lord Tyrell won't be arriving in time to assist us, but by possessing the battlefield of our choosing and commanding rested troops, we shall prevail." The men nodded again, watching him with a strange look on their faces. Jae did not bother deciphering them. "I suggest you prepare yourself for the coming engagement, my Lords. Dismissed."

They bowed and left, one by one, Lord Tarly staying back long enough to give Jaehaerys a nod of approval. Jae retreated to his small tent. Lord Fossoway wanted to gift him an opulent one, fit for a King. That it would require an entire wagon for itself to transport, the man had not considered. Jae politely asked him to safeguard it until after the war. I always wanted to attend a Tourney outside of King's Landing.

The tent he used may have lacked the gold linings and magnificent cloth but served its purpose well enough. It had enough room for a large bed and a table to work from. He sat down in a chair, poured himself a cup of wine, and drank in silence, a lone candle illuminating the tent.

A man such as myself is supposed to be surrounded by his closest friends and allies at such a moment, he thought, How come I have none?

Daemon Blackfyre was said to be surrounded by the finest knights from the entire Realm. On the night before the Battle of the Redgrass Fields, they were bound to have sat around a fire, drinking and laughing, recounting stories of earlier years, better years. Even Robert Baratheon, when he wasn't too busy fucking whores, had Eddard Stark to share a drink with. Jaehaerys longed for that kind of companionship at that moment, sitting in his tent, as much as he did as a boy. How come I don't have that?

He shook his head and took another sip. Enough with the whining. "Ser Arthur!" he called.

Ser Arthur leaned through the flap of his tent. "Yes, Your Grace?"

"Come, share a drink with me, Ser," Jae said, trying not to sound too desperate or pathetic.

Ser Arthur looked as though he wanted to argue, but bit his tongue at the look on Jae's face and entered without protest. Jae appreciated that. He gestured for Ser Arthur to take a seat and poured him a cup of wine. "Do not worry, Ser, I promise not to get you drunk."

Ser Arthur graced him with a smile for perhaps the first time and took the cup.

Jae raised it in the air. "To peace."

"To peace," Ser Arthur echoed him, those violet eyes watching Jae.

They each took a sip, both enjoying the smooth taste of the Arbor Gold, but neither knowing what to say. An uncomfortable silence descended on the tent until Jaehaerys mustered up his courage and asked, "What was my father like, Ser?"

Ser Arthur, who'd been pretending as though he found the liquid in his cup fascinating, looked up with a start. "I—Your Grace..."

"People've told me about him all my life, of course. Connington said one thing, but he only wanted to hurt me. Ser Jaime said another, but he spoke with the awe of a young boy recounting the tale of his heroes. But you—you knew him. You were his friend. I thought you might know things they didn't."

Ser Arthur stared at him, appearing to be at a loss for words. He shook his head and looked back at his wine. "He was much like you, Your Grace."

Jae frowned at that. No one had ever said anything of the sort.

Ser Arthur continued, "Sometimes I have to remind myself you are two different people when I watch you. He felt a sense of responsibility for everyone in the Realm. Calm and dutiful, he always did what was expected of him, never putting his own desires ahead of the greater good. And much like you, he was always aware of the coming storm."

"Apart from running away with my mother, you mean. He put duty ahead of desire, except for her." Jae said, his tone bitter.

Ser Arthur inclined his head. "Perhaps, but even that action was borne of duty. He believed Elia would not be able to birth another babe and even Aegon looked far too frail. In that, it turned out he was right. But there is one thing I would say separates the two of you: your father never believed he could prevent the coming disaster, but you... you've fought tooth and nail the entire time, never once giving up. I suppose that's Lyanna Stark's blood in you. And that's what's brought you here."

"Where?" Jae asked, wanting to know what he referred to. "Where exactly am I?"

"You're beloved by the people of the Seven Kingdoms, Your Grace, though you do not seem to know it," Ser Arthur said, smiling openly now at Jae's surprise. "Every one of your stunts at Court, every time you fooled Connington to help the Realm, it all trickled out of the capital. Stories of your deeds are too numerous to count. I know you fear being seen as another power-hungry rebel, but you should remember there are twenty-five thousand men sitting outside willing to kill anyone who makes that claim."

Jaehaerys snorted. "They have little choice, Ser."

"They have more choice than you think, Your Grace. Do you know how many men we've lost to desertion today?" he asked.

Jaehaerys shook his head.

"Not one, Your Grace. I checked personally. I've lost more men to desertion when we attacked the Kingswood Brotherhood, and they were all skilled warriors and men-at-arms. At the prospect of battle, some fled," Ser Arthur said, his voice betraying some of his own wonder at the phenomenon.

Jae did not know what to say to that. He could not explain it.

"Those stories have had their effect, Your Grace. To the men outside, you are more than a man – you've become an idea, a promise of peace and plenty. Never underestimate its ability to sway men's hearts."

A lump formed in his throat, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He took a deep breath and swallowed it all down. "I—I thank you for that, Ser Arthur."

All of it came back to him; Maester Aemon's letter which brought Dark Sister with it, his furious fight for peace in spite of the odds when he was but a boy, his dreams of a Westeros where those who fought for peace prevailed over those who courted war – Jaehaerys regained the idealistic boy he had been, before the courtly games of King's Landing had swallowed him whole.

Ser Arthur nodded, keenly aware of all the emotions Jae tried to hide. "Think nothing of it, Your Grace." And then, in an elegant attempt to shift the topic, he grabbed the pitcher and said, "Another cup, Your Grace?"

Jaehaerys laughed, quickly wiping away the single tear that got away from him. "Aye, Ser."

That night, Jaehaerys slept more soundly in his bed, in the midst of a military camp, than he ever had back in his rooms at the Red Keep.