Chapter 16

I didn't know whether this was a thing or not, but having spend enough time on death's edges, I had come to realise, I had stopped being such a coward. Actually, that was kind of wrong. I was still very much a coward, I just happen to have come to terms with my own mortality.

Sure, given the chance, I would probably run away from anything that seemed slightly capable of killing me, but having found myself in enough scrappy melees, charges and everything else that entailed medieval warfare, I just woke up one day to find myself that I didn't care so much anymore.

In fact, I found myself wishing that if something was going to kill me during this particular time, it might as well hurry up and get it over and done with already.

You have no idea how that train of thought terrified me.

My long-term goal, both in this life and back when I had the average life back home was to live until well into my nineties or maybe even become a centenarian if I was that lucky. Therefore, my sudden acceptance of the inevitability of death at the young age of sixteen, was wholly unsettling, to me.

Therefore, you have no idea how pleased or happy I was when one day, I fell off my horse and broke my arm. In other words, I had become entirely useless in terms of any sort of military action or manoeuvres.

So that meant no more charges into the jaws of death for me.

If it wasn't such an awkward action with my left hand, I would have done a victory pump. But I didn't because it was both awkward and that I was with other people who would look questioningly at me at the random action.

"How's your arm?" Steffon asked as we made our towards our respective uncle's tent who happened to also be the Commander-in-Chief of the Westerosi Army. If that was a thing.

I trailed my good left hand over my bandaged up right arm in it's sling, "Good all things considering. The maester said that my arm should heal properly and be in fine health if I don't do something stupid."

The broken arm had resulted from my horse throwing me off it's back and me rolling down quite a slope. Now, my horse didn't throw me off it's back because I was mistreating it or because I was a bad rider, but mostly because the patrol that I had been forced to join, had been ambushed by a group of sellswords from the Golden Pricks.

Long story short, my patrol got annihilated apart from little old me.

I had to make my way back to our own camp with a mangled up arm all the while being paranoid that it was going to get infected. That, and the fact that I had to deal with the paranoia that the Golden Pricks and there jolly fellows were chasing after me, so I periodically jumped at the slightest sound. The wind rustling through copious amounts of leaves, a twig breaking because of some deer or squirrel, you name it, I jumped at it. Thank god that by now, I had lost my queasiness because at how bent my arm had been, I would have more than likely thrown up.

The luck of the devil had been with me, but I didn't think I was going to get lucky twice, and thus, I figured my broken arm, which released me from doing any other duty was a blessing in disguise by some benevolent god that was looking out for me.

"You are a lot of things Aerys, but stupid is not one of them." My cousin remarked quietly.

Steffon had been...off lately. Not that I would blame him. His father had died in his arms, and to make things worse (better?) before Ormund had bought it, he had knighted him then and there. That had been the last thing that Ormund had done before passing on.

I wasn't a psychologist or even insightful into how people worked most of the time, but, maybe, just maybe, something like that happening couldn't possibly reflect on an impressionable young man all that well, would it?

Yeah, sure, psychologists weren't a thing at the moment, but Steffon had found himself a suitable therapeutic way of dealing with all the issues or feelings that he was currently suffering from. Beat the living shit out of any Golden Pricks or sellsword that he could reasonably get his hands on.

I was off the mind that if he ever got the chance to fight against this Daemon Targaryen character, he was going to take his sweet time into dealing a whole load of pain. Or maybe he would just go the Robert Baratheon route and cave in his chest with a mighty blow of his war hammer.

"You're family Steff, you are supposed to say that." I replied as we continued to walk through the camp. Common soldiers and noble knights nodded and bowed at us as we walked past. Some faces seemed familiar, but with all the dirt covering them, they could have been anybody, "What does Uncle Duncan want with me?"

The young lord of Storm's End shrugged his shoulders, "Who knows? All I know is that he asked me to get you. And here I thought, I stopped being a squire when my lord father knighted me."

I smirked somewhat, "Somethings never end, Steff. Look at me, I'm a prince and I still get sent on the most inane sorts of tasks. I just like to think that Duncan just likes screwing with me."

"He does that with everybody."

To protect Steffon from the politicking of the stormland lords, Duncan had sent for Steffon to become a part of his knightly retinue in the host he had command off, whilst Ser Gerold had been dispatched to take up the post of overall command of the stormland hosts.

Apparently, stormlanders were a tad bit difficult to deal with, that and unlike most regions, there was no definable 'second most powerful lord or House' in the region that command of the host could be passed onto without ruffling a few prideful feathers. Now all the Houses weren't equal in power, it was just that there were quite a few Houses that could rival each other in terms of wealth and power.

And that wasn't including the Marcher Lords.

Therefore, Duncan decided to sent Ser Gerold to take command. Ser Gerold wasn't a stormlander, although as a reachman, he might be considered not exactly the best option to take command of the stormlands, if it wasn't for the martial culture, even more so than the rest of Westeros, of the stormlands allowed the lords in command to respect that Ser Gerold was a complete and utter beast that knew how to knock some heads together and smash in some skulls.

That was it.

Ser Gerold simply had their respect and would be willing to listen to him simply because they knew that he could, and would very well be able to knock some sense into them without them really being able to do shit about it.

And to drive in the point, Ser Harlan Grandison had also been sent along.

Duncan's massive tent was located in the middle of the camp, black and red of course. Can't forget the fluttering three headed dragon flag dancing in the wind at the top.

You can never have enough dragons as far as some people were concerned. That, and everything had to be in a certain colour. No matter what.

I sometimes tried not think what would happen if said colours didn't at all compliment the clothes a person was wearing.

Steffon was the one who entered first, "Uncle? I brought him here like you asked."

I stepped inside the tent not long after him. I saw Duncan seated on the other side of a table, and saw several letters strewn around the table, "Thanks Steffon." He acknowledged with a nod as he rose up from his seat.

Steffon nodded and on some unseen signal turned to leave the tent. I watched his disappear as the opening flap closed before turning back to my uncle, "So what's this about?"

Duncan didn't so much answer me as more look at my arm, "How's your arm? Healing fine?"

"According to the maester, yes. Should be back to not being broken in a month or two."

"Good. That's good to hear." Duncan said as he looked for something on his desk.

I don't what it was, but to me, it seemed as if Duncan didn't seem to be as casually cool as a cucumber as he usually was. His fretting about on his desk wasn't helping at all.

He eventually found what he was looking for and held up something for me, "A letter for you, from your lovely wife, I suspect."

I walked towards the desk and grabbed the held out letter. I noticed that the seal was still there, so no, it hadn't been tempered with...as far as I could tell. I didn't bother looking for the letter knife and just ripped it open for the parchment within the confines and began reading it.

Ha.

Duncan raised an eyebrow, "What is it?"

My mouth opened to say something before closing. I tried it again and this time, was able to actually say something, "By the looks of things, I'm a father."

Had I been gone for so long that nine months had come and gone?

According to the letter, and I could recognise Branda's writing anywhere, I was now the father to a healthy baby girl by the name of Daenerys Targaryen. I found myself oddly detached to the whole-wait, hold up. Rewind.

My eyes went back to the part of the letter that told me the name of the child that I had brought into this world, and yes, there it was, the name Daenerys Targaryen. Of course, of all the names in the universe that she could very well choose, Branda happens to choose that one? Fuck that.

I wasn't buying it.

Clearly there was something at the works here. There was no way that would just happen.

I refused to believe that bullshit, but the letter was write in front of me, in my hands, saying other wise. No matter how much bullshit I called.

"And I suppose that's a good thing...?" Duncan said, bringing me out of my reverie as I realised the confused tone in his voice was because of probably, the various emotions that had been warring on my face a few moments back.

"Oh it's a good thing. Believe me. Just things...you know." I tried to explain.

Duncan looked at me sceptically, but he nodded nonetheless as if he understood. I don't think he did, "Well, I suppose all good news must come with some bad news."

Bad news? I tilted my head to the side, "I'm sorry, I don't follow."

He directed me towards a nearby chair, "Take a seat. This might be hard to take in." Oh, this did not sound all that good. I really should just turn around and walk away, but I took the seat anyway. Duncan's expression was set in a grim expression as he spoke, "News has come in from King's Landing. Jaehaerys is dead."

I blinked. Jaehaerys? As in my sort off dad, Jaehaerys? Okay, I knew the guy was weak and sickly, but I'm pretty sure he lived on for a couple more years and just didn't outright die just like that.

"I don't understand." No, seriously, I didn't understand. I know the butterflies are flapping and everything, but I cannot actually see how they could have honestly caused him to die a premature death than the one said so in canon, "How?"

"Officially? The Blackfyres. Unofficially? The Blackfyres."

"...I don't get it." Duncan then handed me a letter for me to read then I nodded as I folded it up and gave it back to him, "Now I understand."

I was all calm and everything, but inside? I was freaking out.

I think I might have just been the cause to as to why Jaehaerys is dead.

Well, not the direct cause, but one of the factors or indirect causes that caused his death. See, Jaehaerys didn't die in just your average every day death, he died whilst directing the City Watch to try and quench a fire that had ripped through most of King's Landing, killing thousands.

A fire that was somewhat distinctively green in colouring in some parts of it, whilst other parts happened to be your normal standard colour fire is.

Yes, that's right, wildfire.

Oh shit, what did those fucking pyromancers do? I mean, I told them to be fucking careful with the shit they did for me.

So it was kind of a no brainer that nobody needed to know that I may have somewhat indirectly caused the death of not only the crown prince and thousands of other poor souls. It just so happened that there happened to be a good scapegoat just across the sea that we happened to be fighting against at this very moment in time.

"I'm sorry." That was the only thing that I could honestly say at that moment in time as I realised I just fucked up in someway. I didn't know how, but I just knew that this entire tragedy that had happened somehow involved me.

"You have nothing to apologise for Aerys. As far as we know, this could have been planned by the Blackfyres. You don't need to blame yourself for this."

That was nice and everything, but I was still going to be guilty about this.

"So what happens now?"

"Now? You go back to King's Landing."

I had something of a double take, "I'm sorry, what?"

"You go back to King's Landing." Duncan repeated as he walked back to his desk and picked up another letter, "King's orders and mine as well. We have already lost Jaehaerys, the Crown Prince, which means that you are now the Crown Prince, and we can't lose you. Especially now, of all times."

"But I'm needed right here." In another time, I would have slapped myself silly as to why I was arguing against being sent to a place far safer than the place I was currently in, but once again, I couldn't really careless.

Come to terms with my own mortality and all that bullshit.

"Now you know that's not true. And this isn't up for debate. A ship is already waiting for you at the harbour, along with an escort. We can't take the risk of losing you."

"I'm a father now, remember?"

"To a daughter, not a son." Duncan rebuked, "I'm sure that I don't have to tell you about the Dance of Dragons?"

I opened my mouth to say something, but closed when I realised that he had a point. Once again, I doubt that the lords of Westeros would like taking orders from some girl. Sure, the north and maybe Dorne might support it. Tywin would be against it, because really, Tywin Lannister for equal-gender opportunity? That would be about as likely to happen as Balon Greyjoy being mildly intelligent.

Steffon would be a wildcard. Why? Because after everyone else, he was the most likely to come into the line of succession and that wasn't taking into consideration my other cousin in the form of Daeron Targaryen.

Then again, his mother happened to have been a lowly commoner and apparently, some lords took bloodline rather seriously around here, so he probably wasn't much of a risk.

Still though, it simply wasn't worth it.

And that is how I found myself escorted to a small port town that we had captured earlier on, and from there, onto a ship that was making it's way towards King's Landing.

Not going to lie, a part of me was jumping in joy at the thought that I wouldn't be involved anymore in any sort of fighting and death defying bullshit, whilst another was currently plaguing my mind with the knowledge that in some small manner, I had been involved in whatever had killed my father, thousands of others as well and destroyed a large part of King's Landing.

The letter had been ambivalent to the scale of the damage and the deaths apart from that of Jaehaerys, but this was wildfire here, there was bound to be a shit load of deaths and damage. I'm surprised the letter said nothing about King's Landing being nothing more than molten slag right about now.

I suppose before he had died, Jaehaerys had done quite the job in controlling the fire.

So here I was, lying in my cabin on my bed, wondering what I was going to see when we eventually turned up to King's Landing.

Then the bells started ringing and the frantic shouting and movement on the deck.