Chapter 9 -One olive can move the mountain

"We are under attack! Protect the princesses!"

Not even a second later, Elia found herself on the floor of the ship with one of Zara's men covering her body from arrows while the rest of the guards picked up their javelins and bows, ready to retaliate against the rebel forces of the stag.

While Zara and the dornish men and women were preparing for battle, Elia tried to get up, but the man who was shielding her held her down. "Stay still, my princess. It's too dangerous."

Before she could struggle to break free and rush to her son's body, she heard Zara's voice. "Lannisters! Led by the fucking Mountain!"

The Lannister soldiers charged the ship with the Mountain in the lead, and even though the Mountain was clad in armor, Elia could see the anger on his face as he charged right at her. At the same time, the Lannisters climbed the ropes and ladders, hacking at anyone who tried to stop them. The Mountain was a terrifying sight, towering over everyone else, wearing heavy armor and wielding a massive sword. He seemed unstoppable, as he slashed and smashed his way through the dornish soldiers.

Zara saw him coming and knew she had to face him if her princess and her daughter were to survive. She had sworn to protect Elia and her children, and she would not let them down. Like any good dornish soldier, she grabbed her spear and ran towards the Mountain, dodging arrows and blades. The moment she was within spear reach, Zara thrust her spear at his chest, but nothing happened other than a few sparks. Angered by that, he swung his sword at her head, but unfortunately for the brute, she ducked under his blade and stabbed his side, but her spear bounced off his armor. The mountain grunted and tried to hit her again, but she rolled away.

"Stay still bitch!"

Unbothered by the Mountain's curse, Zara prepared herself. The bloody mass of muscles was slow, but getting hit by him would only end in her death. While Zara cares little for her life, she is quite keen on keeping Elia and little Rhaenys alive.

Just as the Mountain was about to slash at her, out of nowhere, a dornish special-made arrow pierced one of the Mountain's joints forcing the man to stop in his tracks and look down at his wound. Capitalizing on this opportunity, Zara charged, aiming at the Mountain's groin. Before the Mountain could even react, a spearhead found its way under the armor, slashing Clegane's lower half.

The Mountain screamed out in pain as Zara's spear tore through his flesh. He dropped his sword and clutched his groin, forgetting everything about the damned woman that injured him. Not wanting to give the Mountain a chance of recovering, Zara used her spear to trip the monster off her ship and into the water, much to the relief of all of the surviving dornish guards.

Once the Mountain was no longer in the ship and probably on the shore, Zara took charge of her remaining men and women and fought the Lannister back. From the fifty Lannisters that followed the Mountain, only seven managed to escape with their leader while the rest died at the hands of the dornish. As soon as the last Lannister fell to the deck of the ship, Zara let out a sigh. The battle was hard and many of her men died leaving only a handful of them to take care of the ship and protect the princesses back to their home where no bloody lion, stag, or whatever wants them dead would come.

It didn't take her long to find Elia on the deck holding the dead body of her son, crying her eyes out. Even though she didn't want to disturb her in her time of mourning, she knelt beside the princess and gently touched her shoulder.

"Elia, my lady, I'm so sorry."

Elia looked up at her with red and swollen eyes. She clutched the body of her son, Aegon, his blood had long left his body, but it was still a gruesome sight to watch a mother hugging her baby's pierced body.

"Zara, he killed him. He killed my baby." Elia sobbed.

"I know, Elia. I know. He's a monster. A beast. He deserves to die a thousand times over," Zara said, trying to comfort her princess. Thankfully Rhaenys was taken under the deck by one of the women who survived and was being kept busy.

He escaped. He's still alive. He's still out there. And we're here, alone, with nothing left," Elia said, breaking down again. Like a good friend, Zara hugged her tightly, feeling her tears wet her shirt.

"Elia, you're not alone. You still have me. You still have your daughter, Rhaenys. You still have your brothers. You still have your people, who love you and respect you. You still have Dorne, your home."

But the princess didn't react at all, instead, she just turned her head slightly not to show her face to her friend.

"Elia, listen to me. You are a Martell of Dorne. You are the sun that rises in the morning and sets in the evening. You are the blood that runs through the veins of your people. You are the fire that burns in their hearts. You are the princess of Dorne, and you will not let them break you. One day, I swear to you, I will bring you the head of the Mountain and that of Tywin Lannister. Those fuckers will pay for what they did to a baby!"

Slowly, Elia regained some light in her eyes as she remembered her daughter. "Thank you, Zara."

"Anything for you, my princess."

<King's Landing>

The Targaryens lost and now Lord Tywin Lannister was sacking the Red Keep. Jaime could swear that the mad king seemed to have regained for a second his sane mind, but in the next moment, the man started laughing as he looked at his Hand.

"Is it done? "

"Yes, Your Grace. The wildfire caches are ready to blow. The whole city will burn with us, your grace." Lord Rossart explained while eyeing the young Kingsguard.

"Good. Good. Let them come. Let them see the power of the dragon. Let them feel the fire and blood!"

Aerys then turned around and looked at his throne and for the first time in a year, Jaime saw the king looking somewhat melancholic, something that made him quite surprised, to say the least. Rarely did Aerys become sane, but never had he looked like this on the throne.

"All of them are fools. Fools and traitors. All of them! None shall steal from the dragon!"

The more he listened to the Mad King's rant, the angrier and more disgusted Jaime got. He had sworn to protect him, to obey him, to serve him. He had given up his family, his inheritance, and his future as the future lord protector of the Westland, and had sacrificed everything for the honor of being a Kingsguard.

But what honor was there in guarding a madman? A tyrant? A murderer? Aerys had killed thousands of innocents, burned his subjects alive, raped his wife, and now he wanted to destroy the entire city with wildfire. The man had no regard for anything other than his mad dream of being reborn as a dragon.

More than once had Jaime wondered how different things would have been if he had been chosen to guard Prince Rhaegar instead. Rhaegar, the true dragon, the last hope of House Targaryen. The prince would have been by far the best king Westeros had in years.

It wasn't a secret that Jaime admired Rhaegar more than anyone else in the world. He had dreamed of being his friend, and like most young men, he had wished to fight by his side, to learn from him, to serve him.

But fate had been cruel to him. He had been forced to watch as Rhaegar left for war, never to return. He had been ordered to stay in King's Landing with Aerys, who grew more paranoid and violent every day. He, the last Kingsguard in the capital had been trapped in a nightmare that he could not escape.

As Jaime was remembering his dreams, the doors of the throne burst open and a gold clock rushed inside looking terrified beyond reason.

"Your grace…" The man paused for a second, catching his breath. "The Old Lion has attacked us! We lost the city…"

Before the man could even continue, a small flash hit his chest before a green fire engulfed the man, burning him alive.

He turned to Jaime, who was standing still and silent, his hand on his sword hilt. "You are one of them, aren't you? You are his son, his golden boy. You have his blood in your veins." Aerys licked his lips, his voice lowering to a whisper.

"Your grace… I… I had no…"

"Your mother. Joanna. She was a beauty, a rare flower in the garden of Casterly Rock. I saw her on the day of your father's bastard when she lay dying in a pool of blood. She looked at me with those green eyes of hers, and I felt a fire in my loins. I wanted her then, I wanted her more than anything. But Tywin was there, holding her hand, glaring at me like I was not his king! He knew what I desired, he knew what I would have done if he had not been there. But like a traitorous snake that he was, he denied me my right as king, he denied me my pleasure."

Aerys paused, for a second as his breath ragged before he reached for a goblet of wine and drank it in one gulp.

"But you know what? He could not stop me from taking what was mine by another means. Your sister. Cersei. She is the spitting image of your mother, only younger and riper. She has the same golden hair, the same green eyes, the same sweet lips. She is a queen in waiting, a prize for any king. And I am the king. I can't wait to taste her when I fuck her in front of your father!" The king then paused once more before turning to his loyal and equally crazy hand.

"Light the wildfire Rossart. Let the whole city burn…"

Rossart didn't waste any more time and moved towards one of the hidden tunnels behind the throne. Just as he passed the iron throne and reached the side of the golden king's guard, he fell, unable to understand why his world went dark.

When Aerys saw the blood on his blade, he demanded to know if it was Lord Tywin's, not even thinking about how impossible it was even for a good swordsman to kill a person who was probably just entering the city in a few seconds.

 "I want him dead, the traitor. I want his head, you'll bring me his head, or you'll burn with all the rest. All the traitors. Rossart says they are inside the walls! He's gone to make them a warm welcome. Whose blood? Whose?"

"Rossart's."

Those purple eyes of his grew huge then, and the royal mouth drooped open in shock. He lost control of his bowels, turned, and ran for the Iron Throne. Beneath the empty eyes of the skulls on the walls, Jaime hauled the last dragonking bodily off the steps, squealing like a pig and smelling like a privy. A single slash across his throat was all it took to end it. So easy, so plain, and yet that was all it took to end the king. 

'A king should die harder than this.' Jaime muttered to himself.

Rossart at least had been an old man, though if truth be told he would have fought like an alchemist most likely. Unfortunately for Rossart, no one will ask how he died despite his born right. . . but of course, he was no one, lowborn, Hand for a fortnight, just another mad fancy of the Mad King.

A few minutes later, Ser Elys Westerling Lord Crakehall and others of his father's knights burst into the hall in time to see the last of it, so there was no way for Jaime to vanish and let some braggart steal the praise or blame. It would be blamed, he knew at once when he saw the way they looked at him . . . though perhaps that was fear. Lannister or not, he was one of Aerys's seven.

"The castle is ours, ser, and the city," Roland Crakehall told him, which was half true. Targaryen loyalists were still dying on the serpentine steps and in the armory, Amory Lorch and five of his men were scaling the walls of Maegor's Holdfast searching for the princess and her children, strangely enough Jaime wondered where Gregor Clegane was, and Ned Stark was leading his northmen through the King's Gate even then, but Crakehall could not have known that after all the man was an idiot, at least in Jaime's eyes. However, to his credit, the man didn't seem all that surprised that he was dead.

"Tell them the Mad King is dead," Jaime commanded not wanting to see any more bloodshed tonight. "Spare all those who yield and hold them captive."

"Shall I proclaim a new king as well?" Crakehall asked, and Jaime read the question plain: Shall it be your father, or Robert Baratheon, or do you mean to try to make a new dragonking?

He thought for a moment of the boy Viserys, who fled to Dragonstone, and of Rhaegar's infant son Aegon, leaving for Dorne with his mother. A new Targaryen king, and my father as Hand. How the wolves will howl, and the storm lord chokes with rage. For a moment he was tempted, until he glanced down again at the body on the floor, in its spreading pool of blood. 

His blood is in both of them, he thought.

"Proclaim who you bloody well like," Jaime told Crakehall. Then he climbed the Iron Throne and seated himself with his sword across his knees, to see who would come to claim the kingdom.

As it happened, it had been Eddard Stark.

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