Chapter 26: Brotherhood

Daeron:

It had been more than a fortnight since he had been given the task to clear the Kingswood of the Brotherhood. The only thing he had found in most of that time was frustration. They struck his parties, but always melted back into the woods before he could bring the proper force to bear down upon them.

It was grueling riding through the Kingswood chasing shadows and fighting apparitions. He hated every second of it. At times, at his weakest, he wished Father had given the order to Barristan or Arthur or even his brother, Rhaegar.

Anyone but me, he'd say, but he'd never allow that feebleness to linger. I wanted this task. I needed it. After what the Brotherhood did to him.

They attacked me, that sort of brazenness could not be ignored. They attacked Cersei. That anger burned even hotter.

"Where are these fuckers?" Robert grumbled. He had gotten off his horse and was stomping around.

They were standing in a field filled with colorful flowers and a few small trees that poked out here and there, tall and thin, dotting the landscape around them. In the distance, he could see the capital, King's Landing. The only interesting sights to him was the Red Keep that loomed over the city like some fierce, crimson beast and the Sept of Baelor. The massive dome with its pristine seven crystal towers rising around it. From here, it more resembled a crown than a sept.

"What did you expect, Robert?" Jaime drawled from atop his horse, which was draped in crimson silk and gold armor. "For them to come to us and then meekly fall on our swords?"

Daeron snorted at that image. He was not the only one thankful for the refreshing levity.

Robert chuckled. "I don't use a sword, Lannister." He proudly pointed to where his warhammer was holstered. A simple display of his cousin's strength and fortitude at being able to carry such a heavy weapon with ease.

Restless atop his horse, Daeron had dismounted and began to pace, but unlike his cousin he remained outwardly calm despite his anger and growing embarrassment.

I'm being mocked. He was certain of it. That was why he went no further.

The Prince bested by peasants. That's what the capital would say if he came back to King's Landing without beating these brigands.

I'll return a failure. He could already see it playing out in his mind, And Father will send Rhaegar.

His stomach soured at the images flickering across him of Rhaegar finding and beating the Brotherhood. The city would cheer him, give all their adoration for their beloved prince, who had saved them from the menace of the Kingswood Brotherhood while all too quickly whispering and snickering at how Daeron had failed.

Rhaegar would probably write a stupid song about his victories. The thought only further angered him. He kicked a loose rock, watching it fly several feet in the air before it descended and disappeared into a batch of flowers.

Ser Barristan's judgment was entirely silent, but the knight did raise a white eyebrow at him when he turned in his direction. He was standing the closest to Daeron, having gotten off his horse when Daeron had dismounted.

The kingsguard knight had already insured a proper perimeter be set up for their position. Their guard was a mixture of Targaryen, Baratheon, Lannister, and even Houses Tully and Arryn provided a few additional men.

Ser Brynden had asked to stay to help root out the Brotherhood. The famous knight felt obligated to see justice done to those who killed his family's ward. Daeron had welcomed him, excited at being able to ride into battle with such a legend.

The Blackfish had been the only one able to get any success against the Brotherhood. His superior scouting skills and the tricks that he deployed had been able to wrangle a few of the Brotherhood brigands, but that wasn't nearly good enough.

All this at my disposal and look at me. He observed, ashamed. Some of the greatest houses of Westeros stand behind me and I've led them to nothing but failure. His eyes watching the banners of his friends' families sagging with little wind to carry them. The sight did not comfort him.

"Mayhaps instead of men my father should have paid for a minstrel," Jaime observed dryly, "To have him walk through the Kingswood singing a certain song."

Daeron smiled, appreciative of his friend's humor. He needed it to chase away his dark thoughts and darker mood.

That was when he saw a pair of birds fly overhead. One red and one black, singing together while they flew into the forest and then out of view. Their birdsong trailing behind them, a musical echo that too soon faded away.

He took it as a good omen. He had to.

The Seven will bless us, he was more certain now while he waited for Ser Arthur and Ned to return from the city.

After a fortnight of frustration, of these bandits continuing to evade them or strike on their terms and not his, Ser Arthur came to him with a suggestion.

"My prince, the smallfolk appear to be helping them."

Daeron would not forget his anger at this show of disloyalty. "They're hiding the brigands?"

"Yes, my prince," Ser Arthur and Ned had gone to investigate after another failed attempt to lure the brotherhood out.

"The gall," Daeron growled. This Brotherhood wasn't clever or sly they were being aided by those whose loyalty should be to his family first and foremost.

"They are distrustful," the kingsguard put delicately.

"Of who? Of what?" He did not think that gave them any right to betray his family. "Their prince?" He scoffed at the ignorance that the smallfolk were cursed with. "Yet, they trust these killers and thieves."

Ser Arthur waited until he had finished. "If we were to petition your father for more rights they may help."

"They may?" He repeated angrily. "Mayhaps, they should help first as fealty demands." He crossed his arms over his chest. "And then I shall take their petition to my father and speak on their behalf when loyalty has been proven."

"My Prince?" Ned stepped forward, "I think Ser Arthur is correct. My father often spoke of the duty he has to our people especially when they are suffering from times of hardships. We must always work to prove ourselves of their trust and loyalty."

Daeron frowned, mulling over his friend's words. He did not really know nor care to know the daily lives of the smallfolk. If all they needed were a few minor things in order to secure their loyalty over the brotherhood, then so be it.

That wasn't what was most important to him. He had to beat the Brotherhood.

I cannot come back as a failure. I must prove my worth. I must show it to them.

"Then let it be done."

Now, they waited to see if Arthur's words while well intended proved to be helpful.

Daeron waited with whatever patience hadn't been drained away from him in these trying weeks. They were here.

"My prince," Ser Arthur tapped his horse to move forward, he bowed his head when he neared. "It is done." He brandished the rolled up parchment with the same pride as his family's famous ancestral sword, Dawn. "King Aerys has answered their petitions."

Even though it was what he wanted, he was still surprised that his father had agreed to it. They must have seen him in a good mood, he thought, or Lord Tywin saw to it. He had heard the Hand of the King was beyond furious when he had been told of an attack against his family. He had further shown his displeasure by the dispatching of so many men to help them against the Brotherhood.

The only thing we've been fighting so far is boredom, he thought reluctantly at the failures of his inability to quell these outlaws.

"Well done, Arthur," Daeron meant it, "And you, Ned." He moved to go back to his horse. "Let us spread the word that the smallfolk's complaints have been addressed by the crown." He announced to his gathered men.

Let us pray these seeds bear good fruit.

Dark Sister sang beautifully.

The sword whistled cutting through the air as Daeron directed it at the exposed side of his opponent. The valyrian steel bit into the patchwork armor without difficulty and sunk deeper into the flesh below the shoulder.

The bandit's shout was brief since Dark Sister was quick to silence him.

The body was held up loosely by his sword. He gave a quick tug to free it and the body crumpled to his feet.

A dragon does not pity those beneath him. His father's voice reminded him as he stepped over another corpse he made.

Satisfaction soared through him and he could not help but smile. He did not know what else to call it, but a thrill that he carried ever since the fighting broke out between his men and the Brotherhood. The first real fighting he was able to manage against the brigands.

Ser Arthur's advice proved to be right. Since the petition had been put in effect and they paid for their supplies and information the smallfolk proved their fealty. They refused to hide the bandits and outright told Daeron and his men some of their known haunts within the forest.

This was why he found himself in the middle of a pitched skirmish, and enjoying every second of it. Finally, the frustration that had been seething underneath now began to pour out of him against any bandit he came across. He hacked and cut his way through the rabble.

This piece of land that Daeron had made his battlefield.

It was an old clearing deep within the forest that the brotherhood used to allow them to rest without having to worry about being exposed. It was here where the smallfolk would deliver them food and other necessities when they still foolishly thought it wise to help bandits instead of dragons.

Now, I'm delivering them justice.

A roar that sounded more animal than man came from his other side and Daeron didn't need to turn around to know it was his cousin. The following thump which made the earth nearly shake confirmed it, another followed but this came with a loud clang and a louder shout with the hammer finding its mark.

He and Robert had moved further ahead, thicker into the fighting. He was sure Barristan and Arthur did not approve, but Daeron didn't care. He felt no caution, no concern, he felt invincible. His feet moved to the war drum that hammered in his chest.

Dark Sister was held loosely in his hand, dripping red, but he knew she still wished to sing.

So do I.

A bandit obliged, young and pockmarked he charged him foolishly, fueled by the the dreams of glory and riches for being the one to slay a Targaryen prince and to claim a valyrian steel sword.

He easily parried the bandit's clumsy strike. The sound of their swords clashing seemed to wake him from his haze and his eyes widened when he took Daeron in. Realization and dread slowly creeping over his expression .

Desperation made him a frenzied beast, lashing out to try to end the fight, but Daeron deftly avoided them. He was trained by the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, and here was a bandit of a similar age with a poor sword and no armor.

He thought to kill me, he mused, letting the bandit stay the aggressor. His sword swung wildly from side to side as if expecting Daeron to walk forward and allow himself to be sliced in half. The bandit was beginning to grow tired after a few more attempts of that poor maneuver. His poor stamina betraying him. His breathing was haggard and his arms were shaking from the duress of fighting.

Dark Sister was merciful, lazily pushing away his sword after an upward cut that more sagged than sailed. The valyrian steel sword punched right through cloth and flesh, a lethal strike to the chest. The bandit was dead in an instant. The sword clattered to the ground, his body slumped forward.

He carefully slipped Dark Sister out, for a heartbeat, he thought the bloody blade resembled a predator after feasting on a recent kill. It dripped red, with bits of flesh speckled on it. The corpse toppled and he stepped to the side to let it fall.

"Now, this is justice, Cousin!"

Daeron looked around to see him and Robert had ventured deeper into the forest than he first thought. They were no longer in the clearing. He couldn't even see any trace of it. All around them tall oaks and elms stood, old and proud. Their branches reached high, clawing towards the blue sky, leaves bristled in the wind, while a dapple of sunlight poured through casting their surroundings in a mixture of light and shadows.

Robert stood beside him. He was grinning, face flushed with sweat. His black hair was wet and messy. His heavy warhammer in one hand. There were specks of blood powdered across his chest plate. The black crowned stag emblazoned on it was covered with crimson spots.

Their many victims were strewn before them, blood splashing against the blanket of leaves and the gnarled roots.

"My Prince!" He heard shouting from behind, but it sounded far away.

We have been cut off. Daeron realized his folly at once, "Cousin," He warned just as he heard the sound of crunching leaves approaching them.

"Good," Robert understood, but he didn't sound the least bit bothered, "I was getting bored."

The battle song calmed his nerves before it could prickle against his skin. He knew the noise was coming ahead not behind. It isn't allies who are about to greet us. With that in mind, he carefully walked to his side to a large oak. He wanted to use the tree's massive base to shield him from any hidden archers ahead of them.

"Targaryen!" A voice called out to them, two shadows emerging from the forest's primal darkness. Into the splintering sunlight to reveal themselves, Daeron recognized them to be Simon Toyne and Big Belly Ben, two of the more infamous outlaws that belonged to the Brotherhood.

"Your family has shat on mine long enough," Simon Toyne was the proclaimed leader of the Kingswood Brotherhood.

He was proudly wearing his family's colors, upon his armor was the black winged heart of his house. His dark eyes took Daeron in and the Prince saw nothing but hate burning behind that gaze, below the man's large and hooked nose, his lips formed a sneer.

"You may have defeated the Brotherhood," His voice was rough and laced with indifference, "But killing you," He pointed his sword towards Daeron. "I can think of no better reward."

It wasn't Simon who charged forward, but the man beside him, Big Belly Ben. A name well earned, he was nearly as tall as Robert, while his armor could not conceal his bulging gut. His face was fat and the coarse brown beard that covered his cheeks and many chins failed to hide it. In his large arms he carried an equally large war-axe and had it raised, moving towards Daeron.

"He's mine, Cousin," Robert's heavy footsteps moved to meet the challenger and the two large men clashed to a loud clatter of steel and shouts. The warriors resembled aurochs in size and demeanor as they traded blows and curses. The ground seemed to shake and rumble beneath their large frames.

The battle song it nursed him. Inside Daeron could hear its soothing tune, rippling beneath his skin, his muscles were quivering. He's coming to bleed, they sang, He's coming to die.

"I did not think you'd take the bait so quickly."

He ignored his words and instead focused on the lessons that Barristan instilled into him.

"I wondered when the Mad King would send one of his sons to deal with us," He taunted, "That's all I ever wanted, you see? Your family ruined mine and I will return the favor."

Then the time for words was over and the time for swords had begun.

Daeron's body moved by instinct. He raised Dark Sister to block an upwards slash. His sword, his stance, his footwork, all of it seemed to move without him needing to tell them. The battle song was washing over him, and despite the duel he found himself in, he felt nothing but calm and control.

Simon feinted to his left, a subtle move, but one the Prince had seen from Ser Barristan more times then he could count, and it was far more cunning coming from the legendary knight. Dark Sister reached out to deter the attack, sending his opponent's sword in the wrong direction. Simon recovered, moving himself deftly out of reach in case Dark Sister tried to lunge forward where it would've been unopposed.

Anger began to darken Simon's face, black heart, indeed, Daeron observed of his opponent.

He could hear Barristan's whisper inside his head, pointing out the flaw in Simon's defense, as their swords spat and sang to one another, clashing angrily again and again.

He's losing his focus, my prince. You must always be aware. Always.

"I want to watch the life leave your eyes," Simon growled.

Their swords broke free and he saw his chance. Dark Sister flicked past the enemy's sword for a quick strike, the valyrian steel cut through the armor just below his right shoulder. He staggered.

"Then you should have used an arrow." In one swift motion Dark Sister sliced off Simon Toyne's head.

Dismay was forever etched on Simon's face. His head hit the ground with a squish and thud. A burst of red bloomed spraying out in a stream before the body tumbled over.

A loud, wet crunch made him turn to see Robert pulling his weapon out of the now corpse of Big Belly Ben. The chest had been caved in from the weight and power of his warhammer.

"You live, Cousin." Robert observed, barely flicking his eyes up from his dead opponent.

"I do," Daeron replied, "Your concern is touching."

Robert chuckled, "I'm not one of your bloody kingsguard knights." The mirthful shine in his blue eyes belayed his words.

Daeron smiled, but it did not linger with the mention of said knights. He knew Barristan and Arthur would not be pleased by allowing himself to get seperated, but first he and Robert had to return and hope his friends and men fared as well as they did.

Jaime:

These are not dummies.

Jaime ducked under the clumsy swipe of the bandit's shield.

These are not the wooden men that filled the training yards of Casterly Rock and King's Landing. Those that took your attacks in silence. They did not move, they did not react while you hacked away at them. In your fight against them they were nothing but mute observers.

Jaime let his sword cut low going under the shield and finding purchase in the man's torso. He dragged the sword upwards ignoring the man's cries, until the sword came out and the man fell backwards dead before he hit the ground.

He let out a shaky breath.

No, he thought, these were people, sons and brothers, husbands and uncles.

They groaned and shouted, cursed and cried. They bled and whimpered.

They died.

Jaime didn't look where the body fell. His eyes were scanning the battlefield. The Brotherhood had buckled under the combined forces that Prince Daeron had brought to bear down on them. Without the help of the smallfolk to help and hide them, they were doomed.

The fighting was coming to an end. The Brotherhood had broken, some had surrendered, some fled, but most had died.

He looked for his friend wanting to congratulate him on their triumph, but that was when he noticed he could not spot Prince Daeron in the clearing. Robert's gone too, he realized, he saw Sers Barristan and Arthur were moving swiftly through the forest where the shadows of the woods soon engulfed the white clad figures.

Jaime made to join them knowing they must be seeking the Prince. He was about to step out of the clearing and into the surrounding woods when a wheezy laugh brought him to a complete stop.

He reacted without thinking, his sword coming up just in time to block a sword that seemed to materialize out of the darkness. Its holder did not remain hidden stepping out of the shadows, draped in black, Jaime knew who it was at once, The Smiling Knight.

His helm was equally black, neither ornate nor unique. It looked like the helm of a common guardsman. The only noticeable trait was the large red smile painted on the front. It was a smear of dried blood.

Jaime didn't have time to reflect on this unexpected opponent before he was forced to meet the knight's next attack. He moved left and right, swiftly, but each strike had unexpected strength behind it.

The Smiling Knight lived up to his reputation, Jaime decided, dodging one of the outlaw's blows. He showed talent within every aspect of the sword and Jaime found himself remaining on the defensive. He never had time to counter, or strike because he was forced to dodge or deflect the unrelenting attack from the outlaw.

"That's a lot of gold ya have," The Smiling Knight's voice was strangely normal to Jaime's ears, besides the muffled lilt from it coming behind a closed helm. "Pretty gold makes for shitty armor."

"You can test it yourself."

The Smiling Knight obliged.

Jaime could feel his heartbeat pounding, but his hands remained steady. His grip on his sword was certain and his confidence did not waver despite the clear talent of his enemy.

The Knights' black cloak was tattered, it fluttered behind him like broken wings. There was a twitchiness in his movement. It was neither smooth nor refined as Jaime had seen in others. It was irregular and that was when Jaime knew what he had to do.

After blocking another blow, Jaime became the compulsive one. He threw most of his weight behind his sword when the swords clashed. The Smiling Knight stumbled, his feet nearly tripping over themselves. He got caught unaware and in that Jaime made him pay. Keeping his own balance, Jaime's sword followed in a vertical slash that caught the Smiling Knight's unprotected spot near his armpit. The sword bit deep, and the knight hissed in pain. Blood began to stream down his armor and the knight faltered.

Jaime's second attack was the fatal one. The sword slid in between the chest plate and the helm cutting at the neck to give the Smiling Knight a second red smile. He shuddered, and collapsed to his knees. Red spittle leaked from the helm. He looked up at Jaime for barely a heartbeat before his legs unwound under him and he hit the ground and stilled.

"Wait, wait, wait."

His wife's voice pulled him out of the clearing within the forest. Jaime blinked in the dim firelight of their guest chambers at Storm's End. He was no longer looking down at the red smile of the Smiling Knight, but looking at the warm smile of his wife, Elia Lannister.

"Yes?" He replied simply to her interruption.

They were seated by the small table near the glowing hearth. An empty bottle of Arbor Gold stood between them. Jaime would have liked to say they split it, but that was not the truth. The effects of the drink were welcomed, and he was proud to say that he hadn't slurred any words in his retelling of them taking down the Kingswood Brotherhood.

After successfully dealing with the Kingswood Brother it had taken them a few days to return to Storm's End. When they did, Robert had unsurprisingly insisted upon throwing a feast to celebrate their victory. Eventually when the hour was late and the night dark, he and Elia excused themselves.

In the quiet of the room, Elia had asked him to tell her what had happened. She wanted to hear it from him and not the gossip from the soldiers or the retelling of his friends or from the others who had witnessed it.

Never one to deny his wife, he obliged her. It was not an easy feat. The Arbor Gold helped, but he was not skilled in storytelling. I remember it, but can I truly retell it?

"That's what happened?" His wife's amber eyes glowed in the candlelight.

Jaime sipped from his glass before answering. "The fighting doesn't last long," He saw the bottom of his glass, "It's not at all how the minstrels tell it, where duels can last hours. The fighting, its over in seconds mayhaps a few minutes," he shrugged. He honestly did not know. "When I was fighting," He trailed off.

He was finding it difficult to properly describe what he saw, what he felt. It bordered on frustrating.

She must have sensed it as she reached across the table to put her hand atop one of his.

"Some of what you said just doesn't make sense," she said gently.

Jaime tried not to frown at his wife's criticism.

"How does the Smil-"

He never let her finish. He had gotten up and silenced her complaint with a kiss.

"Jaime," her eyes did not match her resigned tone.

He smirked at her. "I'm not a minstrel, wife. I cannot put it all into words and when I try," He shrugged and then finished his glass.

No one wants to hear about the shit and blood, he thought, or the piss stained breeches of the first man I killed in that fight. He frowned down at his empty cup as if silently willing it to refill.

She wrapped herself around him from behind. Her embrace was soothing. "Forgive me," she murmured against him, "Please finish, I want to hear the end."

"Even the embellishments?"

"Of course, dear," was her supportive reply.

"Jaime!" Prince Daeron had stepped away from some of his Targaryen guards to approach him. Dark Sister was in hand and his two kingsguard knights were behind him. The sword, the knights, and the black armor with the gold enameled three headed dragon of his house all together made his friend look like the Young Dragon come again.

"My Prince," Jaime greeted his friend.

"We did it," Daeron was grinning. He clapped Jaime on the shoulder when he was close enough. Ser Barristan remained standing behind the prince, but Ser Arthur had peeled off and moved in the direction where Robert and Ned were talking. Or from here it looked like Robert was boasting and Ned was listening in wry resignation.

"We did," Jaime smiled, "They say you killed Simon Toyne."

"I did," Daeron looked pleased, "It seems he attacked my caravan because he wanted a Targaryen prince."

"He got one," Jaime observed dryly.

"Indeed, he did," Daeron's smile at that was sharper than valyrian steel. He then looked to where the Smiling Knight lay slain, "I heard you were the one to fight and kill him."

"I was."

"Well done, Jaime," Ser Barristan spoke first, "He may have been an outlaw, but he was a skilled knight. It would take mettle and talent to defeat him."

"Thank you, Ser Barristan," Jaime found himself standing a bit straighter upon receiving praise from such a legendary figure.

"You have served with distinction and have shown valor on the battlefield, and I have seen firsthand your character to know you are a man of quality," Ser Barristan stepped forward with a friendly smile, "Jaime Lannister, kneel."

His body moved to obey while his mind was reeling. It was happening. Those words repeated in his head, his excitement thrummed through him. I'm to be knighted.

Father had offered before he was married, but Jaime had refused. I want to earn my knighthood, he told him, it should not come to me in the form of a wedding present.

The soil was damp when his knees pressed down into it. He looked up to see Ser Barristan had taken to stand in front of him, but then he saw his friend. "Wait," Jaime was confused, "What of Prince Daeron?"

"I was already knighted," His expression showed his appreciation for Jaime's question. "Ser Barristan knighted me after finding me and Robert." He paused turning back to the knight he squired for for so many years, "Well first he scolded me and then threatened me," He added lightly, "But afterwards he knighted me."

Barristan's chuckle was dry. "The prince tells it true." His tone was all pride for his former squire. "He earned his knighthood the same as you, Jaime Lannister."

"Wait," Jaime stopped Ser Barristan before he could begin. He was surprised by his own interruption, "I mean no insult, Ser Barristan, for you are the finest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, but could it be possible for Prince Daeron to knight me?"

They had talked about this for so long. They practiced together, sparred together for so many years. It was always the two of them whether King's Landing or Casterly Rock. Their trials were one. Jaime could not think of a more fitting end for them then for his truest friend to knight him. We're brothers.

Ser Barristan didn't look the least bit offended. "I understand," He smiled, and nodded before stepping back and Prince Daeron stepped forward, Dark Sister in hand.

"You honor me, Jaime." The Prince's voice was difficult to describe.

"Put your sword upon his right shoulder, my prince," Ser Barristan instructed. Prince Daeron may have been newly knighted so he was not fully aware of all the formalities that it took.

Dark Sister rested on Jaime's right shoulder. He looked up to meet Prince Daeron's gaze, who offered him a friendly nod before repeating after Ser Barristan.

"Jaime Lannister, do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves?"

Just like in the stories, he thought, the brave knights who fought the evil and the corrupt.

"To protect all women and children?"

Elia, his mind's eye went to his beautiful wife and he thought of their child growing inside her. I would die for them.

"To obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king?"

It was his father he thought of first, and then his friend, the very one who was knighting him. And only after them did his mind show him Aerys and then Rhaegar, his king and the crown prince.

"To fight bravely when needed and do such tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"

"I do," He swore.

Dark Sister moved to his left shoulder.

"Then arise," Prince Daeron told him, "Arise Ser Jaime Lannister."

The touch on his shoulder was not Dark Sister's blade, but his wife's fingers.

The muddy ground of the kingswood was no longer beneath his knees. He was lying back on the soft mattress in their chambers at Storm's End with Elia beside him.

"I am so proud of you, husband," She leaned up to kiss his cheek. Her eyes were shimmering with warmth. "It's what you always wanted." She was so happy for him.

"I did," He admitted, wrapping his arms around her, but being here with Elia, he thought about the vows they made at the Sept in Casterly Rock, and remembering her telling him she was pregnant.

Those were the memories that truly made him happy, that he cherished above all else. And being knighted could not even begin to compare to those.

My dreams have changed, he realized, but he couldn't be happier.