Midnight
Vaemond was woken from his sleep by a knocking of the door.
Nyel covered herself with the sheets while Vaemond pulled on a robe and made his way to the door through their airy and spacious sleeping apartment, opening it.
Outside the door was Ser Roland Crakehall of the Kingsguard who had the guard that night, as well as a young teenager that Vaemond recognized as one of Samwell Tully's attendants and messengers.
‘’I trust you have a good reason for rousing us at this hour?’’ Vaemond asked the big Kingsguard, not unkindly.
Ser Roland fidgeted with his amulet to the father ‘’I think it best you hear it directly your Grace….the Hand has convened a meeting in the White Sword Tower..’’
‘’Give me a moment to dress.’’ Vaemond said before closing the door and pulling on something more suitable for a council meeting.
‘’What is it Vae?’’ Nyel asked him tiredly.
He ran a hand through her hair and kissed her forehead ‘’Go back to sleep.’’
Following Ser Roland, he made his way through the dimly lit hallways of the Red Keep before stepping out into the cold night air, a wind from Blackwater Bay coming in as they made their way through the courtyard to the nearby White Sword Tower, the residential quarters of the Kingsguard when they were not on duty, its whitewashed stone setting it apart from the surrounding walls and parapets in the moonlight.
Samwell Tully, his hand of the King for four years was seated in the common room along with the other sworn brothers of the Kingsguard in front of a large weirwood table in the shape of a shield, white as bone, all present had grim looks upon their faces, in the center of the table beside the White Book was a small raven scroll, seal broken.
‘’Something has happened.’’ Vaemond said to nooone in particular, taking a seat beside his Hand.
Samwell Tully nodded ‘’Your Grace….it grieves me to say but we received word from the Stormlands…..Lord Commander Corlys was killed in a terrible accident at the tourney, while tilting against one of the local lords household knights he dismounted his foe, but his lance shattered and a shard passed through his gorget….he passed quickly I am told if it is any consolation.’’
The news took Vaemond like a punch to the gut, his hands tightening on the grips of his chair, his body lurching forward as if he were going to be sick.
Corlys Velaryon had been more than just the Lord Commander of Vaemonds kingsguard, but his greatest friend, ally, and confidant.
He had watched Corlys drill at arms since he was a young boy, and on that terrible night on the Sunset Sea when Vaemond had lost his father, it had been Corlys who had swam out to sea to rescue out the prince, if not for him Vaemond would have perished alongside his father.
Further on, it had been Corlys who had accompanied him on the midnight quest to claim Moondancer on the island on Blackwater Rush, Corlys who was the first to swear his sword to Vaemond at Oldtown, Corlys who had fought alongside him during his first battle against the pirates in the straits between Bloodstone and Sunstone. It had been Corlys who was responsible for Vaemonds biggest victory and the rescue of Kings Landing.
The White Sword Tower was so quiet one could hear a pin drop, the roar of the hearthfire in the common room roaring and crackling, Vaemond made his way to his feet unsteadily leaning over the back of his chair.
‘’It is like I have lost my father all over again.’’ Vaemond said, his eyes welling with tears before he angrily wiped them away, the memory of Corlys doing the same to him when he had received his first painful bruise when he began training at arms as a child.
Collecting himself and steadying his voice he let go of the chair.
‘’Everything I have…..my crown….my dragon…my very life I owe to him….everything.’’ He began.
‘’I will see him rewarded……he shall have a funeral worthy of a King….the entire city shall pay him homage before he is sent home to Driftmark to be burned…..before he joins his brother and my father.’’ Vaemond said before turning to Ser Roland Crakehall.
‘’Ser Roland.’’
‘’Your Grace?’’
‘’You shall lead an honor guard of 200 mounted knights to the Stormlands and return his bones here.’’ Vaemond commanded.
‘’It shall be my greatest honor….may the father guide our journey.’’ Ser Roland replied solemnly.
Vaemond then turned to Ser Harold Langward.
‘’Ser Harold……you are the last surviving of my fathers seven original Kingsguard….you have fought at my side in the Stepstones, at Edgerton and Duskendale, on the walls of Greenfield and underneath the walls of this very city….I name you Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.’’ Vaemond said to the Stormlands.
Ser Harold nodded ‘’It would be my privilege to lead these men….I shall see that the Lord Commanders entry in the white book is painted and chronicled.’’
Vaemond nodded, suddenly exhausted as memories of the past ran through his mind as he made his way back to the Red Keep to return to Nyels embrace.
Three Nights Later
The night air was cool on Matarys’s face as he and Lucas Blackwood, Commander of the Gold Cloaks, made their way through the dark streets of Kings Landing from the sept towards Aegon's Hill and the Red Keep.
Matarys was far from a religious man, shunning the whole concept of the gods as nonsense but he had decided to attend a candlelight vigil for the late Lord Commander in the cities sept, one of the nightly services that were planned until Ser Roland returned with the Lord Commanders remains, the man had served his family well and Matarys supposed he could put up with some blabbering and singing in his honor, and despite his nature he found the service rather touching, even growing emotional at the end.
Matarys had come to the sept with a small contingent of guards but there had been a misunderstanding with the changing of the guard and he was left alone following the service, luckily for him however, Ser Lucas Blackwood, commander of the city had offered to escort him back to the Red Keep personally.
‘’His soul has been received by the gods no doubt…..purified and cleansed in their righteous light.’’ Ser Lucas said piously.
‘’If you say so.’’ Matarys responded with a shrug, he was quite fond of Ser Lucas, particularly his kind and charitable treatment and governance of the city, but the man's zealous prattling was something Matarys found hard to stand.
They continued through the dark streets, past taverns and houses, shops and smithies, all empty, even the taverns seemed quiet, in large part due to Ser Lucas’s posting of gold cloaks in everyone of the cities winesinks and taverns to prevent drunken behavior and flesh peddling which were abhorrent in the eyes of the gods, to be sure all these things still continued, but men had learned to be discrete about such things.
Passing past a few dark alleys, they were surprised when a woman, clothes half torn emerged from one, she ran to Ser Lucas’s horse and grabbed his leg.
‘’Good Ser Knight….I am saved….you're with the city watch?’’ She cried out.
‘’I am the Commander of the City Watch my good woman….what has happened.’’ Ser Lucas said, gently disentangling his leg from her grasp.
‘’Rapers….thieves….they attacked me m’lord.’’ The woman said, half sobbing.
‘’Where?’’ Ser Lucas demanded, prompting the woman to point a dirt caked finger down an alleyway.
‘’Your honor shall be avenged my good woman…have no fear of that.’’ Ser Lucas said, wheeling his horse towards the alleyway, with Matarys following hesitantly.
‘’Perhaps you should not follow my prince….you are no fighter….there is a barracks close by where you could ride for reinforcements, I was foolish to not bring my own escort.’’ Ser Lucas said as they slowly rode down the alleyway.
‘’I am a Targaryen prince, I will not abandon you……honor compels that I do my part.’’ Matarys said.
‘’At least take this.’’ Ser Lucas responded, handing Matarys a dirk from his belt.
Eventually they came to a place where it became too narrow to ride their horses so they dismounted and continued on foot.
Ser Lucas drew his sword and led the way, coming to a place where the alleyway opened up in several different directions, at the center of it was a ripped cloth, similar to what the woman had been wearing.
The Commander of the City Watch knelt down to inspect it, it was the last thing he did.
Out of the alleyway came several armed thugs carrying clubs and dirks.
Ser Lucas Blackwood stood up with confusion, readying his longsword to block a strike from a dirty bearded man but he was grabbed from behind by two more men who pinned his arms. The bearded man beat him savagely about the face with a club while the men behind stabbed him several times with their dirks, puncturing his gold mail before releasing him onto the ground to die.
Even as he groaned and his life blood left him, others appeared from the alley ways to strip him of all valuables, his golden mail, coin purse, fine sword, silver amulet to the maiden, he even saw the woman who had led them there taking his boots.
They had scarcely even noticed Matarys who stood in shock, too horrified at what he was watching happen to Ser Lucas to even think about fleeing.
‘’Whos this little piglet?’’ One of the men asked, a driftwood staff in his hands.
‘’Might have to cut ourselves a piece of bacon eh boys?’’ The bearded man asked the others with a laugh, hefting his club, covered in the blood of Ser Lucas.
‘’Please don't……let us leave and you shall be rewarded’’ Matarys said, raising his dagger.
‘’Us?’’ One of them asked in confusion.
‘’Ser Lucas is hurt….let me tend to him…please…he doesn't have long.’’ Matarys begged.
‘’Looks dead to me.’’ One of them said, kicking Lucas in the leg.
The captain of the gold cloaks gave a piteous moan.
‘’He's alive…..see…he's alive…have mercy!’’ Matarys cried out.
‘’So he is.’’ One of the thieves said before walking over, kneeling, and promptly slitting the man's throat, sending dark red blood streaming down the mud alleyway.
Matarys cried out in horror as he watched the scene unfold.
The thieves circled him from all around.
Matarys initially raised his dagger as the thieves advanced upon him but seeing their numbers hesitated.
What's the point He thought to himself, dropping his dagger to the floor.
‘’Do it then.’’ The Prince said.
One of the thieves obliged, striking him straight in the nose with a wooden cudgel, sending a flaming tendril of pain through his face as his nose exploded in a sickening crunch of blood, causing him to fall to his knees.
The first strike was like no pain he had ever felt, the other strikes that assailed him seemingly almost trivial by comparison.
Mother He thought to himself as he attempted to shield himself from the clubs and kicks until a heavy strike in the back of the head turned his world to darkness.
