Interlude: The Disgraced Knights

"Do you miss Westeros?" Blackheart asked, picking up his clothes scattered across the floor and beginning to dress.

Jon Connington rolled over on the bed and let his eyes linger on the captain-general who noticed and made a point of dressing slower. Myles was a warrior, hard and lean with a body covered with scars fresh and fading from his time in the Company and before. He was shorter than Connington and more on the brawny side, but he was quick and carried the grace of a natural swordsman despite lacking the height of one.

"Do I miss returning home after so long in exile?" Griff scoffed and fell back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling panels above. "It doesn't feel like the same Westeros I was banished from. The realm was so different. It didn't feel so . . ."

"Empty?" laughed Myles shallowly. "I'm sure many men feel the same. You're not the only one, nor are you the only Targaryen loyalist who found himself in the Golden Company."

But I'm the first who returned after stealing from the war chest. He frowned at the memory. It was Varys' suggestion for Connington to desert the Golden Company and take care of the lad when Jon believed he was Aegon Targaryen and not some Blackfyre imposter. Despite himself, Jon felt tears form in the corners of his eyes and blinked them away. He couldn't be caught crying. Not now, not ever. He had promised himself that because he failed the father, he would not fail the son. But I did fail him. I failed both of them. Rhaegar died to the Usurper's hammer and the true Aegon died to the Mountain. When the war was done, Varys and Illyrio were going to pay for that slight and so much more. Jon Connington had promised himself that after hearing the truth. He was going to see the sister sit the Iron Throne and watch the boy he came to see as a son stand beside her before doing what needed to be done. Jon wasn't rash enough to do so before. Let him smile and preen. When he's not looking, I'm going to crush the spider with my boot.

"You have that look on your face again, Jon," Myles said with a sigh. He pulled up his breeches and sat down on the side of the bed, giving Jon's leg a gentle pat. Connington didn't shy away. He didn't have to. Not with Myles. "Something on your mind?"

There is always something on my mind. Blackheart was looking at him earnestly and Jon felt a tinge of regret. He didn't want to tell Myles Toyne. He's followed by his own ghosts. Everyone in the Company is. But would he understand mine?

Myles was looking at him expectedly though. He was not a comely man, was Blackheart, not like Ser Terrence Toyne of the Kingsguard who was tall, dark and handsome enough to sway Aegon the Fourth's mistress and died for it. No, instead Myles was homely with two large jug-ears, a heavy brow above two pale eyes, a large nose that'd been repeatedly broken, and a crooked anvil-like jaw. In no way was it helped by the various battle scars he proudly displaced and bragged about. Myles was no Rhaegar. He was no dragon prince the bards sang tragic ballads about, nor was he the beautiful man Jon saw with his soulful indigo eyes, long elegant fingers made for playing the high harp, and a face that had been sculpted by the Smith himself. Blackheart was warm and open, always willing to listen while the Prince of Dragonstone was mysterious and distant. Myles told you everything, and he had a voice that was made for commanding men, loud and raw with nothing elegant about it. Rhaegar rarely spoke, but when he did you stopped to listen, and he spoke like he carried the fate of the entire world upon his shoulders.

Connington forced himself to speak despite having no desire to. "I have spent a good part of my life in exile and now I'm back. In all honesty it's not how I envisioned it. It's not how I wanted it to be."

Blackheart slowly nodded along. "Few of us desire to find ourselves in a ruined town inhabited by ghosts. But what can we expect in a land already ravaged by war?"

No, Myles, you do not understand. I imagined a world where the lad was true, where my life wasn't a string of humiliations organised by schemers operating in the shadows. That my honour and sacrifices actually meant something. He couldn't blame the boy though. Aegon wasn't at fault for who his true parents were, no more than Jon was. He didn't know, either before or after the Rhoyne. He opened my eyes and for that I'm thankful. It was a painful truth, but Jon was sick of deceit and being a pawn in someone else's game. Despite everything, Connington did have some happy memories he would rather not forget. Even if Aegon wasn't born from his seed, Jon couldn't help but see the lad as his son and, for much of the boy's life, he was. It was he who taught Aegon to bind up his first wound, who taught the lad sword and shield, hammer and axe and bow. It was he who taught Aegon proper knightly manners in a world where knighthood didn't exist. He would read the lad stories of his assumed father and mother, the histories of House Targaryen and the Seven kingdoms and the boy would listen intently and always ask for more.

Jon had grown fearful when Aegon fell into his fever, unable to sleep as the boy laid in bed coughing and covered with sweat. The lad went swimming one day and caught a chill. Haldon told him not to worry, that the boy was strong and resilient and would recover. Only Aegon grew worse instead of better. They'd been forced to wait for Young Griff to recover and, in that time, something happened. It was a while ago but the words, "Am I really Aegon Targaryen?" still rang in Griff's ears. Jon still remembered the feeling, the coldness of his soul the more he thought about it, how hollow he felt as the journey to Pentos slowed to last an eternity.

They will both pay for their actions. I'll play their game a little longer until they no longer suspect, then I'll strangle the life from their heartless bodies. Connington didn't feel the same type of rage he felt when he heard Robert Baratheon killed his silver prince. That was a fiery anger, hot and wild, while mention of Varys was icy and haunting, an anger that was impossibly tranquil but so much fiercer. Jon sighed, ran a calloused hand across his face then sat up. "You're right about that. What about you, Myles? Is Westeros how you envisioned it?"

Blackheart smiled thinly and put on the rest of his clothes. "I haven't been in Westeros for a long time, and never the Riverlands. I was only ever in the Stormlands and the Crownlands from my time in the Kingswood Brotherhood. The Riverlands is a new land, with all new sights and smells. I might have enjoyed Maidenpool if it hadn't been sacked and raped by the time we got here. I might have enjoyed the famous bathhouse of Jonquil's Pool."

"Jonquil's Pool is open for only women to bathe. To have a man in its holy waters is perverse and would pollute the spring. Men are forbidden." He remembered Myles Mooton tell Rhaegar that then they visited Maidenpool together. The famed sweetwater pool with a bathhouse constructed from ages past. Six Maids in a Pool was a song sung about it, and there was another detailing the lustful acts women did to each other with no men around.

"Who's going to stop me?" Blackheart asked with a raised eyebrow. "Last I checked, the holy sisters abandoned the place and the only ones who remain are corpses and rats. Maybe ghosts as well, but I think they have better things to do than haunt me. I don't mean to climb into the waters, only look around. That is unless you desire to join me, Jon? To talk if not to bathe."

"I have no desire to enter that sacred place, nor do I desire you to either."

"Getting superstitious, are you?" Blackheart's mouth spread out into a wide grin. "Scared some women are going to leap out of the shadows with knives in hand?" Jon groaned and Myles laughed, giving the other man a hearty slap on his sticky shoulder. "If it gives you peace of mind, I won't do anything. Truth be told, getting the Seven's ire would be a dangerous thing this early in the campaign."

"That is why we should plan it out. We need to strike against King's Landing as soon as possible. Crush the Lannisters before turning to deal with Stannis and Renly then finally the Young Wolf." Then end it all with the Spider who's at fault for everything.

"Plan everything out already? Hah. In our earlier invasions, the Golden Company always assumed once we take King's Landing, the rest of the Seven Kingdoms would just fall into line. Now we have so many claimants to destroy. Though I urge you not to rush. We need to be patient."

"Patience was not something I ever expected to hear from you."

"I am not the same man you left so many years ago. Years of command has hardened me. I've grown as you have and been refined from my time as captain general. Now with an actual purpose other than just collecting as much plunder as possible so the men can waste it on ever increasing amounts of drink and women. We have something to fight for and I'd rather not fuck it up if I can help it. We'll speak of our plans later and I desire to get a more accurate picture of what we face. I lack many skills the rest of the general staff have, and Maar has his spies still to bring forth information on the political situation since we took ship. We don't know if something happened during that time."

Jon climbed off the bed, walked over to a dish of tepid water and began to wash the sweat from his body. Despite not having a mirror before him, he could feel Myles' heavy gaze. Jon allowed himself a mild smile. "Remember when we first met?"

"When you joined the Golden Company? I remember. The fiery haired knight who needed coin to live after his own family disowned him. You strode in proud as you please and demanded I accept you into the Company."

"That's not what happened."

"Are you sure? I remember something similar then. After all that'd happened, after what happened to your prince, you didn't care whether you lived or died. You were lost, spending most of your time alone instead of with the men. But I saw something in you, Jon. Hot-bloodied you were, and with a temper expected of a wild griffin, but you had something in you I caught onto. Not only because I knew who you were, that you were Prince Rhaegar's friend and once Hand of the King . . ." His arm snaked around Jon and he pressed his chin against the other man's shoulder.

"I'm sure that helped though."

That caused the captain-general to chuckle. "It helped a bit, I'll admit, but there was more. You remember our first night?"

"You got me drunk then managed to retrieve my life story from me." He said much, Jon could remember. He spoke of exile in Essos, his boyhood in Griffin's Roost, and then finally Rhaegar and the Usurper's Rebellion. When Jon had finished speaking, Myles took his arm and pulled him into his tent for that night and many nights after.

"You seemed happy to tell me after I got a few drinks down you, of course." Myles kissed his neck with calloused lips.

"You asked many questions. I thought it would keep you quiet if I told you everything."

"And it did." Myles smiled. He pulled away and Jon suddenly felt cold. "We do need to plan ahead. The men still need to unload supplies from the ships and I'd rather not wait around. There is also a certain knight I believe we need to talk about . . ."

"A knight? Ser Barristan Selmy?"

"The very same. The White Knight of Westeros." Myles wasn't happy saying the name. Few in the Company liked the man and only really the Reds. Barristan's actions during the Ninepenny Kings made him hated among the Blacks who thought it safer to execute him. But even those who reviled Selmy respected him for few could disparage Barristan's skill in arms. "As you are the regent to House Targaryen and the Seven Kingdoms once we win the Iron Throne, I must ask what you plan to do with him? The girl refused to have him on her Queensguard which has still to get a single member. She's wise, I must say. You can't trust a traitor. But what are we going to do with him?"

Connington wouldn't have minded if Barristan took the white once more. He was dutiful and gallant, a man who disliked tricks and scheming. A simple knight whose life was his sword. The same man who bent the knee to Robert after Rhaegar's death . . . Jon's face twisted in rage at the memory. "What do you desire to do with him, captain-general?"

Myles shrugged his shoulders but it was clear he had plans. Blackheart was a man who thought of contingencies. "I hold my own dislike of Selmy for personal reasons, but I'm no fool. He's a tool and if he's got no king or queen to guard, he begins to rust. I would make sure this tool is used as much as possible until it breaks. I'm going to request Queen Daenerys assign him with the Fifth Legion with Aegon. He needs a steady hand and one that carries a decent deal of influence within Westeros."

"You think that's a wise idea? He might even try to kill the boy. They do not like each other."

Myles didn't answer that, instead saying, "You best get dressed and I should organise the officers. Do you think the guards outside realise how long I've been in your chambers?"

"That you entered last night on 'official business' and now its morning? I don't think they suspect a thing."

"Then I best make my escape else they'll think we were doing something last night. The last thing we need is the men talking." Myles laughed and Jon allowed himself a smile. After dressing himself with crumpled tunic and breeches, Myles took his leave, though he did forget one sock.

...

"All kneel for Her Grace, Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, the Unburnt, Princess of Dragonstone and Mother of Dragons," cried the herald, voice echoing through Mooton's great hall.

Ser Barristan Selmy slipped a hand beneath the fold of his cloak and looked through the wall of people. No blades were permitted in the presence of the queen other than the swords of her protectors and those she trusted. The aged knight didn't number among that group.

As everyone knelt, Selmy couldn't help but remember visiting Maidenpool when he was not so old. It had been a flourishing town where many pilgrim women came to bathe in Jonquil's Pool in the hopes the water would cure their ailments and bless the children growing in their wombs. The waters were said to be blessed with healing properties and even Queen Alysanne visited to bathe in its sacred waters. But the Good Queen got ambushed and almost fell to murderers' knives. Barristan had never visited for men were forbidden to enter the sacred bathhouse less they corrupt it with their manhood. But from what he'd been told when they arrived, the once clear waters had turned a murky grey-green and was now full of bloated corpses. No one desired to bathe in that.

Although Barristan had no memories of the pool, he could remember Ser Myles Mooton who had been Prince Rhaegar's squire and rarely had there been a more diligent lad. He was the younger brother but everything a lord and knight was meant to be. "Bold as brass," one man had described him. A skilled lance, a talented dancer, but exceptional with the sword and those skills made him famous despite his young age. And he would have been more renowned if Robert hadn't killed him. Selmy could still remember when they received news from the Battle of the Bells where Myles had been one of those killed by Robert's hammer. Though no one said anything, it was known to all Myles desired nothing other than to be remembered in song and oft jested he would be as famous as Barristan the Bold or Ser Arthur Dayne, and hadn't been against the idea of joining the Kingsguard to serve his prince. There was no doubt Myles thought he could end Robert's Rebellion then and there. He vowed as much.

He was young and hot-blooded, as many youths are. Barristan had watched him leave with Connington when his hair was still bright red instead of dim with patches of grey. The hand and the squire, taking what had been the royal army only to return ashamed with many of their best dead beneath the walls of Stony Sept. Barristan studied William Mooton who stood at the queen's side in his soft plush doublet. Balding head, red-cheeked and fat-faced, his lordship was not a man others wished to follow. If it was Myles who'd been born first . . . Barristan didn't want to think about it. Not all men were born to brandish swords or ride in tourneys, but he couldn't help but distrust Lord Mooton. Barristan had known his sort in King's Landing, always fawning to his superiors and utterly craven when a bigger man showed up. Or a tiny girl in Daenerys' case.

"Ser Barristan Selmy," the herald called out in a loud clear voice.

Stepping to the side, the wall of sellswords allowed Ser Barristan to pass where he stood before the young girl who was queen and took the knee. Atop her throne, the Mother of Dragons looked the very image of a young Targaryen monarch. She wore plum silk with a ruby necklace around her slim neck, and atop her short silver hair was Queen Rhaella's crown, slender and delicate and the picture of feminine grace. But it was her eyes that struck him. Even after all these years, Ser Barristan could still recall Ashara Dayne's smile, the sound of her laughter but above all, her haunting purple eyes. They were smiling eyes, fitting the dark hair that tumbled past her dusky shoulders. Daenerys had those same eyes and sometimes he wondered if he was instead staring at Ashara's daughter and not Rhaella's."

She looked down at him, not accompanied by her sellsword king who had left to speak to the lords of Crackclaw Point. Until he had her forgiveness, Barristan had sworn he would not shave his beard nor cut his hair. He had wanted to serve Queen Daenerys at her side as a protector and adviser in the hopes of redeeming himself and serve a ruler worthy of the throne after all these years so he might die content. "Your Grace," he said softly.

"Quiet," was all Daenerys said as she inspected him from her throne. "Ser Barristan Selmy, you had served my father and brother. You have served my grandfather and proved your worth on many a battlefield. Until you joined Robert Baratheon you had been among the truest knights in the Seven Kingdoms, and always put the throne above yourself. But then you turned after the Trident and became a turncloak. My brother would have hanged you and have your head placed atop a spike to warn other traitors what happens when you betray the dragon. You are lucky I was urged to show mercy. I only allowed you to stay because of your service to House Targaryen. You had saved my father at Duskendale when Lord Tywin would rather risk his king's life. You sneaked in and got him out and for that I am in your debt. Otherwise I wouldn't be sitting here now, and House Targaryen would be extinct. Before your betrayal you fought beside my brother on the Trident and took injuries in his name. All I ask of you, Ser Barristan, is why you joined the Usurper?"

Barristan Selmy examined the queen, not seeing any madness in her eyes like there had been with King Aerys. There was a strength she carried despite her young years. The strength of a queen who would do what needed to be done. He had no desire to lie to her. "Some truths are hard to hear. Robert was a . . . he was a good knight. He was chivalrous and brave and spared my life and the lives of many others when he had no need to. You questioned before why I didn't go across the Narrow Sea and lend my strength to Prince Viserys. He was only a boy, and it would have been years before he would have been fit to rule and . . . forgive me, my queen. You asked for the truth and even as a child, Prince Viserys oft seemed to be his father's son. In ways that Rhaegar never had."

"His father's son?" Daenerys frowned. "What does that mean?"

Barristan couldn't blink. Not now. He might as well be digging his own brave, but he needed to continue even if the queen didn't like it. "Your Father was called the Mad King."

"He was called that, and at first I believed it was slander created by his enemies for he had many wishing to besmirch his name and that of his house. But I grew to understand there was truth to it, and I confess much of what he did was wrong and unworthy of a king."

He could almost sigh in relief. Barristan thought she would not want to hear the truth and instead send him away. "I told you I travelled across the Narrow Sea using a false name so the Lannisters would not know I had joined you. That was less than half of it, Your Grace. The truth is that I wanted to watch you for a time before pledging you my sword. While Viserys . . . I didn't know about you. I needed to be certain you were not . . ."

"My father's daughter?" An expression flashed across her face but whether it was fear, Barristan couldn't say.

"Mad," he finished. "I have not seen any taint in you."

"Taint?" Daenerys bristled. "Like Viserys? Was that what you were going to say? My brother was not mad. Oh, he could be cruel and petty but that is not madness, ser. He was also caring, and he did what he could to protect me in the streets. If we were both hungry and he had only the single piece of bread, he would give me the food and go to bed hungry. It was the loss of this crown that I have atop my head that destroyed the warmth in his heart. Do not say he was born mad, ser. You never knew what we had to live through."

"I confess I had no knowledge of what you both went through, Your Grace," Barristan conceded. "I am no maester to quote history to you. Swords have been life, not books and histories. But every child knows the Targaryens have always danced too close to madness. Your father was not the first. King Jaehaerys once told me madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born the gods toss a coin into the air and the world holds its breath to see where it lands."

"Am I only a coin in the hands of some god? Is that what you are saying, ser?"

"No. You are the true queen of Westeros. To the end of my days I shall remain your faithful knight should you find me worthy to bear a sword again in your name. If not, I am content to do as you please, however or whatever that may be."

"Then what if I desire to dress you in motley and have you as a fool?" she asked scornfully. "Or what if I desire you as a cook?"

"I would be honoured to do whatever my queen wishes of me," Barristan said with quiet dignity. "I will confess I am not as funny as Moonboy, but I know a couple of jokes I'd been told around the campfire on many a campaign, and jests Ser Oswell Whent told me. If it's a cook you wish of me, I can bake apples and boil beef as well as any man, and I've roasted many a duck in my years. I hope you like them greasy with charred skin and bloody bones."

He didn't expect Daenerys to smile, even if it was only a small one. "I'm sure I would be spoiled to eat such fare. But you promised to do anything, no matter what I ask of you?"

"Anything, Your Grace."

"Then earn your redemption, ser. I have Seven Kingdoms to conquer and heard much of Ser Barristan Selmy's talents. I want you to use those skills you gained in your many years and join my husband. He needs good swords around him, and you need to prove yourself as someone I can trust. Can you do that?"

The knight bowed his head. "I will do what my queen wills. I may not wear the white cloak, but I have sworn to serve you."

"Keep my Aegon safe, ser. You are dismissed."

Barristan bowed his head and took his leave as others were called up to voice their grievances to the young queen. When Ser Barristan had armoured himself and was equipping his horse, he heard a sound in the stables and turned around to see Daenerys enter. "Your Grace?"

The silver queen didn't reply immediately, instead observing the many horses lined up in their stalls, a tiny smile gracing her lips. "I wanted to ask you something before you left, ser, and away from the eager ears of my court. I am told a knight of the Kingsguard is in the king's presence day and night. That their vows require them to protect his secrets as they would his life. I'm not going to ask you about Robert Baratheon, but my father, King Aerys. As his daughter and heir, do his secrets now belong to me?"

Barristan hesitated. "Your father's secrets, by rights, belong to you now. Do you have any questions you wish to ask of me?"

"Questions? I have hundreds, ser. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Where do I even start?" She paused and turned to a horse, stroking its head. She smiled but it was a sad smile and after offering the mare an apple, turned back around to face him. She had put on a mask, Barristan saw, but it was clear the mask was only that, a mask, and the girl underneath was not the queen she tried to portray. "Was my father truly mad? I heard stories from Haldon of my father's . . . sickness of the mind, and how he treated my mother. But are the stories true? Viserys said talk of madness was a ploy of the Usurper. You were there at his side unlike Haldon. I want you to be honest, Ser Barristan. Please."

"Your father, King Aerys, he . . . he had some madness in him even when he was young. His Grace was taken with flights of fancy and was unpredictable. He would obsess with one thing one day and completely despise it the next. He had ideas that were queer and was flattered endlessly by courtiers who encouraged these fantasises. But he wasn't cruel for much of his reign. He was very charming and generous, and he had a sharp wit, so he could easily sway cautious lords into becoming close friends. His reign began with much promise. The court became famous for its masked balls and grand feasts, and many tourneys were staged in that time. The smallfolk especially loved him. But as the years passed and lapses grew more frequent—"

"He grew crueller," Daenerys Targaryen finished. She looked sad. "There must have been good in him . . . once. But what of my mother, ser? Was she cruel? Was she mad as Targaryens are said to be?"

"No one – not even those who despise the Targaryens – would ever call Queen Rhaella cruel and she certainty wasn't mad. She sheltered your brother from the king's lapses and put herself between the young prince and her husband. She put her duty and honour first as a true queen should. When Princess Elia of Dorne gave Rhaegar his daughter, it was the queen who sat beside Elia's bedside and embraced Princess Rhaenys. She was close to the Dornish Princess just as she was close to her mother." He smiled slightly. "The court called them the trio of the Sun, Dragon and Lion. Your mother and her two closest companions: Lady Joanna Lannister and Princess Loreza Martell. They were rarely apart and were the terror of the Red Keep during their youth."

A shy smile graced Daenerys' face. "You will have to tell me more about them when you return. Hopefully you have plenty of happy stories. I dislike sadness. May the Seven watch over you, Ser Barristan." She took her leave and the knight finished equipping his horse and joined the others where they rode out to join their meagre strength to Ser Aegon Blackfyre.

...

Scattered across the countryside were abandoned holdfasts made of crumbling stone scorched black by torches, and villages that were little more than burnt husks. Barristan remembered when these towns were once full of life, but now the only life that remained were swarms of flies and rats feasting upon the bloated corpses of butchered herds.

Riding atop a handsome horse that didn't have a name other than Grey, Barristan and his escort passed several patrols of Golden Company riders. Most were native Essosi and more than a few had the dark copper skin and black eyes of Dothraki. Despite not having knights, the Free Cities did hold cavalry in high regard, but where they lacked knights and heavy lancers, Essosi armies made great use of light horsemen. Lightly armoured and highly mobile, the men they came across served as perfect scouts and messengers. Despite not being long in the Seven Kingdoms, their party passed banners flapping from towerhouses displaying the three-headed dragon of Targaryen and Blackfyre. Sellswords patrolled the tops with crossbows and would fire upon anyone they found suspicious. It would do ill for Barristan should they decide he was a threat.

Despite still having the long hair of Arstan Whitebeard, Ser Barristan had exchanged his cane for a sword and his patchwork robes for aged mail and battered plate like those of a hedge knight. A loss of status from when he was once Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. But despite his demotion, he still looked more richly clade than the detachment surrounding him. His party numbered three others; all Reds and of higher standing than the exiled sons and household knights forming the faction's backbone. Despite claiming to be loyal to the queen and eagerly accepting Selmy as part of their own, the knight couldn't trust them. While some – like Connington – were loyal to Daenerys and decided exile in Essos was preferable to Baratheon rule, most Reds became exiles after Robert won his rebellion or even before. Barristan couldn't grudge them though. He was no different.

"We'd best guard our tongues," John Harpenden warned them shortly after setting off. "It would be safer if no one knew we were passing this way. The last thing we need is to be noticed by local levies who have no love for our presence. There are only four of us and banditry is rifer than ever before."

They thankfully didn't run into any bandits, but one of their horses did break its leg from a rut in the road. The poor animal needed the gift of mercy, and Ser Robert Knolles sawed off bloody strips of flesh from the creature's corpse. "Better not waste the meat. We don't know how long away the Fifth is or if our rations are enough."

"I would rather not eat horse," Barristan remarked, remembering his time on the Stepstones where supplies needed to be brought in by ship thanks to sellswords burning the islands orchards so they couldn't forage. Many towns had been stripped clean and what animals that'd been herded by the hardy islanders were put to the sword and left rotting in the sun. Barristan could remember those islanders, lean and dark-skinned mongrels, raiding their camps before disappearing into the shadows. Everyone had entered the war in high spirits. But once they disembarked on the Stepstones, it didn't take long for the smallfolk to starve and fall to disease, while lords and knights needed to butcher their horses like common cattle to survive. A knight should never eat the creature who bore him into battle.

But Knolles only shrugged and continued cutting.

They had trouble buying further horses. Their party only began with two spare mounts and that might not be enough considering the Fifth Legion was nearly all mounted as for the Blackfyre's request. When they found an estate that had pastures for such creatures, the haggard stablehand only spat on the ground before them. "Aye, they came through here. The black dragon's men seized every horse and mule they came across. Oxen to. They claimed they'd be paying me with gold, but all they offered was a mark upon some paper and claimed I'll receive me coin when the war's done. But you can't eat paper. I refused and the others promised to cut my belly open and pay me with my own guts. If you come across them, travellers, mind your tongues and give the horses up."

Dusk found them on the fringes of the forest, a wet green world where brooks and rivers ran into the Bay of Crabs from dark woods where the ground was made of mud and rotting leaves. Huge willows grew along the watercourses and clinging close to them were humble wooden huts where smallfolk worked among mouldy patches of vegetables. He saw no smallfolk though, and Barristan wagered they hid as soon as they heard horses and saw men with glittering steel on their hips. As they rode deeper, the foliage grew thicker and the trees larger than any trees Barristan had seen outside of the Rainwood. Down the narrow hunting track, trees pressed on either side and shut out the sun; hemlock and cedars, oaks and soldier pines that stood tall and straight as towers, colossal sentinels, big-leaf maples, redwoods, wormtrees and even here and there a wild weirwood. On the mossy ground were tangled branches, ferns where mildew sparkled like tiny diamonds, and bright flowers such as poison kisses, liverwort, lungwort and hornwort, a hundred different mushrooms, lady ferns, bullflowers and piper lace. Tree roots shot up from the earth like grasping hands, and the forest floors were concealed under a carpet of moss. The whole world looked green.

The shortcut Ser Robert Harling claimed existed slowed them to a crawl. Instead of proper roads they rode down crookback slashes that snaked this way and that, through clefts in huge moss-covered rocks and down deep ravines chocked with blackberry brambles. They lost one of their horses when it consumed poisonous leaves that left it unable to stand, so they were left with only what they were riding and rode even slower as a result of the rain that fell soft but constant. The party went to sleep listening to the water dripping off the leaves around them and would wake up for Crackclaw Forest to turn into a bog.

Mayhaps Aegon has already contacted the lords, Barristan thought as they took shelter in the mouth of a cave and watched the falling rain. They spent their days riding yet his body ached like he spent all day fighting. As he aged, Barristan found himself needing less sleep than he had when he was a squire, who would sleep all night and wake up still yawning when he stumbled into the practise yard. Thankfully he had learned to sleep in the saddle provided one of the Roberts or John helped guide his stallion through the difficult terrain. It hadn't been hard to find shelter for Crackclaw Point was peppered with caverns where the Clawmen would hide whenever the Andals invaded only to come out at night when the faithful were sleeping. Aegon had a larger host and would be restricted from moving through the dense forests. If our luck's good, he might even be close.

He wondered how Aegon Blackfyre would react to his newest guests. The boy didn't like him all that much and the feeling was mutual. Ser Barristan Selmy couldn't help but distrust the boy. There was something off about the lad the knight couldn't quite put his finger on, something about the lilt of his voice and his queer mannerisms. It had to be something to do with his blood. Maelys Blackfyre had been merciless in his tyranny of Tyrosh by hanging all the opposition from the black walls of the fortress city, as well as hunting down anyone who could be a rival claimant to the Golden Company. Maelys was a kinslayer through and through. First with his brother in the womb, then his cousin, and finally his more distant kinsmen. If that wasn't a preclude to Maelys the Monstrous' brutality, it was shown during the War of the Ninepenny Kings where the Black Dragon spared his prisoners but leaving them with a cursed life. He never killed his prisoners, instead chopping both their hands off and leaving one man in ten with one eye so he could lead the other nine who were blinded. Such cruelty had been unseen in Westeros and was only rivalled by Maegor the Cruel and Theon Stark. Though Aegon was not Maelys' descendent, he still shared the same blood. None of the black dragons were born of good seed, and Ser Barristan couldn't find himself trusting him like Queen Daenerys did.

After a few more days of riding, they eventually found the campsite of the Fifth Legion.

This encampment, if it could be called that, couldn't compare to what they had seen with the Golden Company in the Disputed Lands. The pavilions were too close together and an easy target for fire arrows, the horses inside could be easily spooked and run amok, and most men hadn't even set up tents – instead most of the legionaries were sleeping on the ground. But at least it was defensible. Though Aegon was a youth, he had talented officers who had fortified the area by forming a defensive perimeter with wagons manned by crossbowmen, and filling the gaps were sharpened stakes and shallow ditches.

Urging Grey forward, Ser Barristan and his knights stepped into the clearing where a dozen weapons were pointed in their direction. Barristan held in his look of disgust. Like many knights he detested crossbows. They were craven weapons and outright dishonourable. Selmy had seen many scores of talented knights with much promise be killed by a peasant boy who'd spent only a week firing at an archery butt when knights spent their whole lives practising with sword and lance. Essosi loved crossbows, the Myrmen especially, and none of them cared about honour.

Meeting them at the entrance was a massive Summer Islander who was polite but said little. He showed them to the command tent that was one of the handful of pavilions assembled and impossible to miss. It was larger than the others and had the legion's two-headed dragon standard next to the Targaryen sigil sewn onto the white canvas flap. There were two legionaries standing guard by the entrance, but they gave Dalabhar a cursory glance before standing aside. Inside the tent were six people either standing or sitting around a crate someone had nailed a map to, and all looked up at the newcomers.

Two of the people inside were not part of the legion nor were they fighters. Haldon Halfmaester was tracing something on the edge of the map with a long finger and looked up at Barristan with a sour face which was a contrast to Septa Lemore friendlier smile. The fat Vaquo boy looked bored as he rocked back and forth on his chair that threatened to break, while the dark-skinned witch was picking dirt beneath her nails, not so much as giving him a glance. Then there was the strikingly handsome youth who was Ser Aegon Blackfyre himself.

"Ser Barristan Selmy," the young legate remarked formally, standing up from his crouching position and dusting off his padded breeches. "I must say your entrance is unexpected." In the candlelight his hair looked more gold than silver and unlike the gold and jewels the older officers wore, the Blackfyre wore a simple gambeson with numerous scratches that must have come from the dragons. He was not one for jewels or signs of wealth.

"Reporting for duty, legate," Ser Robert Harling saluted from the back.

"Prince," Ser Rolly Duckfield of the ginger hair corrected, tapping his sword. "He is a legate but he's your prince above all."

Blackfyre rose a hand to silence him curtly. "Ser Barristan Selmy, mind if I ask why you're here and not standing at Queen Daenerys' side?"

"Her Grace decided it would be better if I stood by your side, my prince. That I should put my skills to good use and fight by your side and protect you from those that might be your enemies. I may no longer wear the white cloak, but I still serve Her Grace till my dying breath and do whatever she may request of me."

Aegon said nothing but his features hardened in a way that reminded Barristan of those in the court who could school their features to show only what they wanted others to see. Features that reminded Barristan of Rhaegar Targaryen. Though there were marked differences, Aegon Blackfyre looked enough like the Prince of Dragonstone to suggest they were directed related, enough so for Aegon to pass as Rhaegar's son if he decided to play an imposter.

"It would be unwise to go against the queen's wishes," Haldon remarked after a moment of tense silence. "Ser Barristan is a fearsome sword and our legion can use every man it can get. We don't even number half a legion, truth be told."

Aegon shrugged casually. "I can't argue with that logic. And if Queen Daenerys wishes it, how can I refuse? Ser Harpenden, Harling and Knolles, thank you for joining us and adding your swords to our cause. You must be hungry and tired after the ride from Maidenpool. I'll have the men cook you up something though I can't promise any feasts. We only have basic fare here: some mashed oats, porridge and, if you're lucky, some bacon."

"Anything that can warm up the belly is enough for me, Your Grace," Harling laughed.

Aegon smiled mildly and asked Dalabhar to show them off. When the lad turned to Barristan, all the warmth disappeared. "No doubt you want to know what's happening when it comes to the lords, ser. Well, it shan't be long. They have sent a messenger to discuss meeting us a few days from now. Honestly, the day can't come soon enough. We've already encountered a number of enemy scouts from houses in the Crownlands, and Lyra's been busy questioning them sharply."

"Is there any army nearby?" Selmy couldn't help but ask. He couldn't remember the Lannisters marshalling another force, and Lord Tywin was still at Harrenhal.

"Not that we know of. But they know we're here and are sampling our strength. It's a sure bet this is when they attack if they do have a force nearby. We're apart from the main host so we're as vulnerable as we can possibly be. Should the Clawmen decide we're not worth joining and instead side with the false king Joffrey, we can expect an ambush. They've certainly had time enough to prepare."

"I shouldn't expect such a thing though," Haldon argued. "But we need to be cautious."

"Did you see anything on the way here, ser?" Rolly Duckfield asked.

"Only patrols from the Golden Company and smallfolk fleeing the destruction in the Riverlands," Ser Barristan explained. "Many have been carrying bones and what little they have."

Septa Lemore said a prayer and Aegon said, "You best get some rest, Ser Barristan. Seeing as Her Grace has cared enough to send you my way, you'll be joining me as part of the honour guard. No doubt you've stood as a standard bearer before. Best you polish that mail of yours, ser. I would rather we didn't fail in these negotiations. I've no desire to return to Daenerys as only a head."