19

Chapter 19: Chapter 16: A New EraChapter Text

"The Kingsguard comprise of seven sworn men and women, all serving for life. They are forbidden from having children, marrying, and holding lands."

-Excerpt from a textbook published in 200 AC

105 AC, King's Landing

On the very last day of year 104 After Conquest, Prince Viserys Targaryen went into seclusion. The entire night, he sat in prayer at the City Sept of King's Landing. Then, when dawn broke on the first day of year 105 After Conquest, he emerged and was anointed by the High Septon in front of the assembled lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms, all seven even, for my father wanted to continue the Old King's good relationship with Dorne and invited the Dornish nobility to come for his coronation.

After the lengthy sermon, the head priest placed the crown of King Jaehaerys on my father's head, finishing the transition from Crown Prince to King. And thus started the reign of King Viserys Targaryen the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. He then rode through the streets of King's Landing, waving at the cheering crowds before taking his rightful place on the Iron Throne. All the assembled lords and ladies, save the Dornish, then proceeded to kneel before him, pledging their fealty and loyalty.

There was a great celebratory feast that night, with more courses than I bothered to count. I was asked to dance by countless boys, but I turned most down. I still didn't swing that way, but it was considered scandalous for a lady of high birth to only dance with her fellow women at a ball. So I was forced onto the dance floor, though I made sure only to pick boys of the highest birth, as there was a non-negligible chance I'd wind up married to one of them.

Six-year-old Prince Qoren Martell, heir to Sunspear, whom blushed furiously as we danced, tripping over my legs and unable to do more than stutter out a few sentences. Arguably the most worthy husband-to-be in the entire room.

Ten-year-old Jason Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock. Gallant even at his young age, which I appreciated, and definitely someone worth cultivating as an ally.

Similarly for eight-year-old Lucas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden. The boy was pudgy and pompous, but he would become House Hightower's overlord, which more than made up for his deficiencies.

Ten-year-old Rickon Stark, heir to Winterfell, was unable to take his eyes off me, and speaking as though we would get married.

Twelve-year-old Oscar Tully, heir to Riverrun was worse, visibly undressing me with his eyes and trying to tug me in the direction of the quiet and dark corners, and scowling when I refused to budge. For crying out loud, I was only seven!

Nine-year-old Jeyne Arryn, Lady Paramount of the Vale, was a true saviour, chasing off Oscar when he got too insistent and stealing me for herself. We danced happily, and I did not miss the way my cousin was visibly ogling me. I caught her eye, and made sure she saw me visibly check her out as well. The two of us ended that dance as happy girls.

Eighteen-year-old Borros Baratheon, heir to Storm's End, was too big and ungainly to dance with me, so Laena took the dance in my stead, but according to my lover he was brutish, avaricious and sexist. Despite being Rhaenys' cousin, he sided with Aegon over Canon me as the Greens gave him a better deal. Definitely someone whom I had to remove from the playing field.

The Greyjoys didn't show up, so I was unable to dance with their heir, but they mattered the least in my plans. I was going to call them to heel eventually, and there was no way the Iron Islands could factor into my plans as anything other than an enemy.

I was taking a break from all the dancing, my legs sore, when Laena plopped down beside me.

"So? How were your future husbands?" She joked, letting me lean my head on her shoulder.

"Prince Qoren and Jason Lannister are good candidates. Lucas Tyrell and Rickon Stark are neither good nor bad, I can flay their flaws out of them with ease. But Oscar Tully and Borros Baratheon are impossible." I told my lover, whom tittered, amused.

"And what about Lady Jeyne Arryn?" Laena teasingly asked. "You were smiling when you danced with her. And not one of your fake smiles."

"She's inclined towards women, as I am, but I'm not looking to settle down with her. You're better than her." I reassured my best friend, whom laughed at that.

"I'm not jealous, Rhae." Laena said, kissing my cheek. "I'm all for you bringing other lovers into bed, as long as you let me join you."

"Pervert." I jokingly accused, snuggling into her.

"Monster." She fondly accused, resting her head atop mine. 

"Come on, let's get up for one last dance." I said, pushing her gently off me. "Before we fall asleep here."

We danced together, all eyes being drawn to us as we did so. The two most beautiful maidens of the Seven Kingdoms, a platinum beauty clad in an exotically cut teal dress edged with silver, and an electrum cutie dressed in an elegant red ballgown with black embroidery, both with eyes only for each other.

———

105 AC, Dragonpit

The very next day, the festivities truly commenced. Now that the formal and stuffy formalities had been dealt with, now was the time for celebration.

A great melee was held in the Dragonpit, with the great arena packed full of spectators all watching the nearly one thousand warriors duke it out for the three white cloaks available. We had followed King Jaehaerys' example and prioritised the melee over the jousting, as threats to our royal lives were rarely met mounted.

It was a spectacle for the dragons as well, the older ones keeping the young in line and making sure that they did not mistake the tourney for a real fight. The Book Of Dragons, actually recommended doing so, acclimatising the younger dragons to the concept of bloodsports such that they did not fly into a frenzy whenever a fighting pit opened. While we had no fighting pits, we had tourneys, so the concept still applied.

Though, to address safety concerns, the melee was held only in half the great arena, with the half closer to the inhabited stables declared off-limits. And as a further precaution, we had Dragonkeepers nearby with water and thick cloaks to beat out dragonfire, with healers already prepared for burns.

For added excitement, we had twenty archers positioned near the stands, with quivers full of blunted arrows dipped in a bucket of paint. Every so often, they'd fire a volley into the furious melee, with anyone hit by the arrows eliminated. We didn't want Kingsguard with poor awareness guarding us. Though for the sake of fairness, the archers aimed only at warriors whom could see them. Laena was among them, accurately downing knight after knight with her new dragonbone recurve, taken from our vault.

"Oh, he's good!" My father excitedly cheered, pointing at a knight seven feet tall and built like a bulldozer. The man was swinging his greatsword with only one hand, holding a large tower shield in the other. His sword was blunted, but getting hit by a great slab of steel wasn't fun business anyway.

"I'm glad you think so." Lord Lyonel Strong agreed. "That's my son Harwin. Just turned sixteen namedays. He's aiming for a White Cloak, your grace."

"Well, if he keeps up that performance, he will certainly get it." King Viserys noted.

Ser Harwin Strong knocked down another warrior with his shield, whacking him with his sword before sidestepping with sudden grace, avoiding the arrow that Laena fired. Just then, another large man barreled into him, knocking him backwards. A dragonstone warhammer came down, knocking Ser Harwin's greatsword out of his hand.

Lord Commander Harrold Westerling swung the warhammer we removed from Aenar's vault, smashing it into Ser Harwin's shield so hard the wood splintered. While Viserys and Corlys needed to work together to life that heavy warhammer, Ser Harrold was strong enough to put it to practical use on a battlefield, as he was demonstrating against Ser Harwin. The warhammer came down once, twice, thrice, until Ser Harwin had to discard his tower shield, reduced to splinters and corkwood.

Undaunted, Ser Harwin ditched his shield smoothly, revealing a shortsword in his other hand and smoothly stabbing forwards with it. The Lord Commaner's reflexes were impressive though, blocking the stab with the shaft of the hammer, but Ser Hawin's left hand, now freed from the shield, shot forwards, grabbing the handle of the hammer and ripping it out of Ser Westerling's hands. Swinging the immensely heavy warhammer with a single arm, he brought it down on the Lord Commander, whom barely dodged the blow.

Wielding the warhammer like it weighed no more than a baseball bat, Ser Harwin swung it furiously, Ser Harrold Westerling forced onto the backfoot, evasions getting closer and closer. Luckily for the Lord Commander, Ser Harwin was clearly not used to the weapon, as he overswung and lost his balance, stumbling forwards, which was all Ser Jonquil needed.

Emerging from the swarm of warriors fighting all around them, like a snake shooting out of the grass, Ser Jonquil suddenly appeared behind Harwin Strong. Her mace struck him in the back of the knee, turning his stumble into a fall and causing him to land on the sand with a great thud. He tried to rise, only to find the point of Ser Jonquil's sword at his throat.

"Oh, good one!" My father cheered, as Lord Lyonel looked like he was force-fed a lemon.

"Yield!" She barked, mace raised threatening in her other hand. The massive man did, spitting out the words in a fury. Ser Jonquil nodded, withdrawing her sword and vanishing into the melee again. Gone as quickly as she had appeared. Ser Westerling immediately snatched up his hammer once more, before using it to down another two knights whom tried to ambush him while he was defenceless.

Meanwhile, Ser Jonuqil reappeared, swiftly striking down a Frey knight just after he forced his opponent to yield before disappearing once more. She was very likely the oldest warrior, being sixty-nine years of age, yet she moved with the grace of a panther, reflexes honed from a lifetime of guarding Queen Alysanne. While she didn't have the strength or stamina to compete with the rest, she had the brains and stealth skills, appearing only to strike down men in their moments of triumph before hiding in the chaos of the crowded melee.

The warriors fought for nearly four hours, dwindling down from nearly a thousand, to fifty. At that, the archers stopped shooting, with Laena the only exception. When there were only ten fighters left, Laena unstrung her bow. And when only four were left, the hornblower signalled the end of the furious melee. The four warriors walking to the front of the royal box and kneeling.

"Congratulations to every warrior whom fought today." King Viserys announced, rising to his feet. "It was a magnificent melee, worthy of both song and story."

The rest of the crowd clapped and cheered, at the four champions of the melee.

"Now, I believe there is the matter of prizes." My father said, the three members of the Kingsguard stepping forwards, each with a white cloak in hand.

Lord Commander Harrold Westerling was one of the four champions, and he alone rose as his sworn brothers approached with the mantles.

"Rise, and name yourselves." He told his three fellow champions. Two of them were hedge knights in sober, practical gear. Cheaply bought, but still functional. The third was...

"Ser Jonquil Darke." The old woman said, removing her serpent helm. She wore her old armour, when she first entered a melee as the mystery knight Serpent In Scarlet. Her weapons of choice were a longsword and mace, held in either hand, with a brace of daggers on her belt.

"Ser Criston Cole." The taller hedge knight said, removing his helm to reveal coal black hair and green eyes, with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and a dashing smile. The future Kingmaker held a morningstar and shield, with a longsword at his waist.

These two, I expected. The Kingmaker was one of the most skilled knights of his time, and Ser Jonquil was a veteran warrior whom was willing to fight dirty to win. I was wondering which of Canon Viserys' Kingsguard the third was, only for my expectations to be blown completely out of the water when the helm was removed.

"Lady Jessamyn Redfort." The third champion said. There was a ripple of shock, disbelief and outrage at the sight of her. She smiled confidently, leaning casually on her bastard sword, the only weapon she brought into the melee.

I painted excitement on my face and clapped enthusiastically for her. She didn't look very old, and couldn't have been more than seventeen. And to think that she went through their entire brutal melee, against men both older and stronger? That right there, was talent.

"Father! You're going to knight her and allow her into your Kingsguard right?" I excitedly begged, playing up the innocent girl angle. Despite knowing that it was an act, he remained very vulnerable to it.

"Well, I was expecting to grant a white cloak to only one woman today. But why not two?" My father finally said, descending from the stands and approaching her. He drew Blackfyre, the entire audience falling silent at that. "Kneel, Lady Jessamyn."

He wasn't as smooth as Ser Ryam had been, probably because this was his first time knighting someone. Still, he didn't embarrass himself, and before long, Ser Jessamyn Redfort rose to her feet.

The three knights then knelt once more, reciting the vows of the Kingsguard. After which, their sworn brothers draped the white cloaks around them, before helping them to their feet. The three newest members of the Kingsguard.