A Dragon Kissed by Sun

Ser Barristan was fuming as he walked back into his solar. He could still smell the burning green flesh. It burned his eyes, nose and throat, and felt like acid dripping down into his stomach.

He had walked out of the room without the king's leave for the first time ever in his life of service. The last thing he saw was Aerys looking at him with a detached crazed look in his eyes. The feeling left behind in his soul by that look caused his heart to pound. He was pacing, but he had to stop to catch his breath.

He reached down and grabbed the hilt of his sword, loosing it from its scabbard. He knew he had to go. The look in Aerys's eyes had been one of a man defeated but not willing to secede. Such men are very dangerous.

He thought of the Stark boy, Brandon, all of twenty years at most. How did this happen? he found himself thought of the ravens that had arrived from Storm's End, and then the ones that came later from other castles in and around the North and the Vale and the Riverlands.

The messages had been identical, most of them, but with signatures added. He knew that because they'd been left all about the Red Keep, sometimes in the trash, sometimes left strewn about as casually as if they contained the ingredients to a pigeon pie. Others were unique, but sent a similar message: Aerys you have failed us. Your time in this world is over.

The only thing more disturbing than the fact that most of Westeros had declared war on the Targaryens was the fact that King Aerys seemed to think it was of no real consequence at all.

There was every reason to believe that the king's life was in more danger now than it had ever been. He should be taking action, helping plan for possible attacks.

Yet he felt nothing. His honor and sense of duty died the moment he saw Rickard Stark go up in green flames, his son strangling himself trying to get to him, it had been months now. Stark's other son was heading down the Kingsroad, possibly as close as Harrenhal by now. This should be information that was being used to plan defenses, and yet at the moment, he felt as if the only true safety was outside of these walls, out there with the criminals.

Criminals... He frowned at that word. What did that word even mean anymore? It seemed as if everyone in the Seven Kingdoms had been declared a criminal at some time or another in the last few years. His head swam. He reached again to the hilt of his sword, then jerked his hand away as he saw the green smoke rising in his mind, saw the flesh boiling and searing, both inside and out at the same time. Criminals...

Ser Barristan Selmy had had enough. His honor as a knight would not allow him to remain here in service to this king. He was sure of that now. Yet any action to that effect would mean his death, swift and certain.

He'd spent the last eighteen months trying discreetly, so as not to go above his station, to help His Grace understand the folly of the heavy handed approach he was using toward not only his lower servants, but all those who would be his allies in the Realm.

His Grace had openly mocked the idea that the sellsword might be so bold as to try to attack him while he sat the Iron Throne. The man had a spear through his eye before he got within a few feet of the king, but the experience had rattled Aerys greatly.

Not to mention what happened at Duskendale, of course. Ser Barristan had thought the incident with the sellsword would be a good moment to help His Grace understand that his true power lied in the loyalty of his people, but to no effect.

Aerys had begun to retreat into isolation instead, holding court less often in public and more and more in his private chambers. Any suggestion that limiting court to private consults might cause concern for the allies of the realm or the smallfolk was met with accusations of treason. There were no men brave enough, or dumb enough, to take issue with it. At least, none left...

Ser Barristan knew that suppressing such things did not make them go away, only turned them into something much more nefarious: anger and resentment. The seeds of retribution are sowed with every dismissive comment. Where had he heard that before? Did it matter? Did anything matter now? He thought of Rhaegar, preparing to fight, defending the honor of his father even though Selmy knew that Rhaegar no longer believed in the man he was bound by family to defend.

Rhaegar, he whispered to himself, Rhaegar is our only hope for the future of this kingdom. His sweet, gentle but intelligent nature will save us all.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door and a voice, thick with foreign accent. "Ser Barristan. His Grace is here, requesting audience with you."

Ser Barristan froze, his stomach knotted and twisted.

Ser Barristan walked slowly to the door and spoke, "His Grace is here?"

"Yes, Ser Barristan, I am here." He recognized his king's voice. Hesitating for a brief moment to check his weapons belt, he twisted the lock and opened the door.

Aerys had a look in his eyes that Barristan did not expect. It was a solemn look. He walked into the room and took a seat near the window.

"Ser Barristan I am sorry that we all had to see that. I did not want it to come to that, you must understand." The king stared deep into his eyes for a moment before continuing.

"The Starks have been loyal friends of the throne for over two hundred years, but..." He paused, looking down and away from Ser Barristan, then stood and stared directly into the knight's eyes.

"Disobedience cannot go unpunished. When the earliest Targaryens of Valyria first conquered the dragons, it took utmost discipline to overpower and ultimately tame the beasts." He paused briefly, then continued.

"When my more recent ancestor Aegon the Conqueror came across the narrow sea, he relied on the absolute loyalty of his men to accomplish his goal. The dragons helped ensure that loyalty, and it is that way that I must rule the kingdom." He looked up again. "You understand that, don't you?"

Barristan looked at him and said nothing. He knew he should say something, or risk angering the most dangerous man in Westeros even as he was trying to reach out to him. Such a slight would not go unpunished. Rather than say something he would regret, he bowed his head and simply said "I understand your perspective, your Grace."

Aerys regarded him for several moments in silence, then spoke. "Ser Barristan, you have been one of my family's most valued servants for thirty years. My father himself raised you up when I was but a child. Do you remember when I went through that phase of calling you Barry?" He paused a moment but did not wait for a response.

"Ser Barristan, there is something important that I must needs ask of you. My son has many men with him on the Trident, but I fear they will not be enough. Please, take some of the men of the City Watch and go with my son to the Trident. The blood of the dragon is in him, and because of that he will not surrender alive. Duskendale, Rosby and Stokeworth have declared for Robert, so the way up the Kingroad is not safe, and the usurper already has men marching down it to take us here."

The king began pacing now, back and forth across Selmy's solar, then continued. "There might be Lannister men on the Gold Road. Avoid them at all costs. They call Tywin Lannister a lion, but he is no lion. A lion will show his true colors to your face. Tywin Lannister is no more than a snake in the grass, pretending to be a harmless plant while lying in wait to strike when his prey least suspects it. His men cannot be trusted, and I am not sending you with enough men to fight them and still help my son on the Trident." He stopped pacing now, closing his eyes and lowering his head for so long that Selmy began to think the king had fallen asleep in a fit of madness.

Then he raised his head again and opened his eyes. The fire reflected off the king's purple eyes in flames that seemed to get bigger as he spoke. "I fear Robert may have enough to overpower him there. I cannot lose my son and heir. If he is lost, I may as well throw myself into the wildfire. The realm will be lost forever without the Targaryens to oversee them." He paused again before directing his fiery gaze directly into Selmy's eyes once more.

The red flames caught the purple of the iris and made his eyes appear a crimson red, dark as blood. "I will see the whole city burn before I let that happen, do you understand me?" His gaze was so intense now that Selmy, one of the bravest and most noble knights of the Kingsguard, nearly lost his knees.

He recovered his footing and looked at his king in utter disbelief. He felt flushed for a moment. With that look, and those words, all hope and faith in this king drained out of him.

Leave the king's side and march north to command the king's troops? What is happening? Our friends are not our friends?

In that moment, Ser Barristan knew that he was going to die without honor for this Targaryen king. He tried to hold his king's gaze without letting his anger show but found he could not, and Ser Barristan had to look away. Then he thought of Rhaegar. Rhaegar will save us all, that sweet gentle soul. He is the answer to our salvation.

Slowly but surely, Ser Barristan Selmy raised his eyes and returned his gaze to his king and said "It will be done, Your Grace."

Ser Barristan stood facing the men and raised his sword to shoulder length as he yelled "Nock!" It had been years since he'd commanded an army, but he still knew the commands and motions. Not that it mattered. Even the most skilled captain would not be able to lead these men through this, he knew.

Everything was falling to pieces right before his eyes. They had not even gotten past Harrenhal when Stark's men came down on them. Not all of them, he knew, but enough. He turned on one heel and faced the line of Stark's men in front of them as he lifted his sword straight above his head and yelled "Draw!" He could hear the strings being drawn as the men prepared to fire. "Loose!" he yelled as he swung his arm down in a quick arcing motion.

A stream of arrows flew toward the line. Most of them landed just inside the front line. A few men fell and dropped to the ground. A couple more made quick shuddering movements and stopped coming forward but didn't fall. Most kept coming at them.

It was only then, as the front line of mounted knights was coming at them at full charge, that he noticed their own archers behind them. Too far, he thought, but then wondered.

The northerners were skilled at long distances, with longbows fashioned from strong oak and weirwood that were hard to come by in the southern regions. This was all going through his mind as their first round of arrows took flight. That was when he knew, with certainty, that he was wrong.

There was as much distance between Stark's archers and the front of Stark's line as there was between Selmy's own archers and Stark's mounts, yet most of Stark's arrows were still on their way up as they passed the Stark men.

"Down! Cover!" Selmy yelled as he turned and ducked to make himself small and cover himself as best as possible. Shoot-plink! Shoot-plink! The first row of arrows landed just short of them, with one exception. One arrow bounced harmlessly off the great shield of a mounted knight. Shoot-PLONK! Selmy could see puzzlement in the man's eyes through the slotted visor of his helm. His men paused for a moment, confused, and Selmy turned. All of Stark's men were coming at them, including the archers. The next round will strike true, he realized.

They had to spread out or they would be torn down where they stood. "Flank!" he yelled, waving his arms up and away from him, indicating for some to go left and others to go right. Most of them understood and started moving. The next round of Stark's arrows landed right in the heart of their mounts. Shoot-plink! Shoot-plink! Shoot-CHICK! One landed in the chest of a horse with a sickening noise. Both man and mount went crashing to the ground, the horse screaming and whinnying in pain. Selmy turned his horse toward them and scooped the man up without missing a step. He yelled again and waved his arms for them all to spread out, then turned his head toward the men coming at them. The front of the van was close. They'd be here in minutes. There would be one more round of arrows though.

He didn't intend to be in the way when the next round hit. He put his head down and dug his heels into the horse's side. The horse did not hesitate. They sprinted several feet directly away from the archers before looping around and running directly crosswise to them, trying to stay just out of reach of the next flight.

They were coming now. Shoot-plink! Shoot-CHICK! The man behind him on his horse lurched and made a gurgling noise and let go of Selmy's shoulder. Ser Barristan turned his head to see an arrow through the man's neck. The Gods certainly must have had it out for this one, he thought. Forgive me, good ser. He swung his elbow around behind him and knocked the soldier off the mount. The horse immediately recovered the speed it had lost from the weight of the additional man and they made their way west along the southern edge of the Trident.

It was then, when he looked around him, that he realized he'd been wrong again. That soldier had not been unlucky. Ser Barristan had just been very lucky. Of all of the knights that he'd just ordered to scatter, hoping to avoid the onslaught of arrows, barely half were still ahorse and still riding alongside him.

Behind them his knights on foot were receiving the first of Stark's chargers. Without mounts, it would have been pointless for them to run, so they had stood firm even as they had been run down. Selmy didn't have to watch long to know that they were being slaughtered where they stood.

He turned again and glanced over his right shoulder at the chargers that had turned to come at them, and then realized they had hit a trap of sorts. The angle that his own knights had taken crosswise to the oncoming Stark created difficult angles for them to fend off attacks, and perfect angles for Stark's men, behind and to their sides. It made it nearly impossible for them to get their swords or shields in between themselves and the oncoming brigade. Several more men were struck down.

Selmy knew he had to turn and face the onslaught or they would take him from behind just as easily as the others. Now! He wheeled his horse around as the first mounted knights were on him.

His horse danced back and forth a couple times, parleying attacks as Stark men rode up hard on him. All he could do was hold up his sword as his horse did its best to avoid any direct head on impacts. He managed to deflect several attacks and even got his sword back up and caught one man on the neck and chin that sent a burst of red splattering like a watermelon exploding.

The next one came, then the next one. Selmy parleyed as best he could. He was about to regroup and try to move toward the side of the oncoming column when his horse was hit head-on by an oncoming destrier.

There was a sickening crunch as the horse's skulls crashed together and formed one big mass of red blood and white bone with two different shades of horse mane. He landed in the mud and, reacting without thinking, rolled out of the way of another oncoming destrier. He had to get to the side of this charge or he would have no chance.

He picked himself up and turned. One of Stark's knights near the edge of the column had slowed to hop around the mound of dead horse that had been his mount. This was his chance.

The horse was just starting to gather speed as it passed him, and Selmy reached up with one hand and grabbed the horse's reins, pulling himself up and onto the horse's rear and wrapping his arm around the shoulders of the knight to right himself. He was fully upon the horse before the knight even noticed he was there. He used the last of the momentum that had carried him up onto the horse to pull the knight down to the left.

The man hit the ground head first, and based on the way his body kept traveling downward when his head hit, Selmy was pretty sure his neck crumbled on impact. He grabbed the horn of the saddle and jerked himself up and into place on the horse, digging his heels and turning to again get to the side of the charge. The horse continued to pick up speed.

When Selmy was reasonably out of the way of what remained of the charge, he tried to turn around and get his bearings again. All of a sudden his horse was hit with an arrow and he found himself crashing to the ground again.

This time that he hit the ground hurt significantly more than the first. His head was spinning, but he picked himself up again, grabbed his sword and turned toward the charge again on foot. A mounted destrier hit him almost instantly, throwing him a hundred feet to a skidding stop in a large mulberry bush next to a grove of trees. There he lay. He knew immediately that his right arm and shoulder had shattered where the mount had hit him. The rest of his injury was not so obvious but became apparent when he tried to move. His other shoulder was certainly broken as well, and his hip possibly too, or his knee, maybe his thigh. He couldn't tell. He was starting to feel funny. He raised his bare hand – his glove was gone too, how did that happen – and touched his forehead. His hand was covered in blood. Was that there before? Is that my blood?

He tried to pick himself up but the pain in his shoulder was excruciating. Instead, he rolled onto his back. Above him, looking down at him was a white weirwood tree. He had become nestled in the bushes at the foot of the tree, mostly concealed by the mulberry bush's thick, scratchy branches and leaves. The weirwood was relatively small, only as big around as his waist.

He looked at the face carved into it. It was staring right at him. He closed his eyes but he could still feel it looking down on him. This is one of their gods, he thought to himself in a cloudy haze. It will call out to them and tell them where I am. I will not be left alive. There's nothing I can do about it. He felt certain of this. He looked again up at the weirwood tree. Its eyes seem kind actually, he thought to himself.

That was the last thing he remembered thinking before he drifted off. At that moment, he was certain he would never wake again.

When Ser Barristan Selmy awoke, he immediately felt pain but saw nothing. It took his eyes a moment to adjust, and he realized he was in a litter. There were dark drapes drawn, and he was alone. He tried to move his arms, but found there was excruciating pain when he did.

"Don't try to move, ser, you'll find that any such will be quite fruitless, as well as quite painful. Both of your shoulders have been dislocated and your right arm is broken in two places. You're quite lucky to be alive, ser." A voice came from the blackness near him.

Ser Barristan didn't even want to remember, he had thought of that moment many times, in how many different ways he could have helped Rhaegar, but in the end, he failed him.

When Robert Baratheon asked if he wanted to serve him or be executed, Barristan had chosen to serve but only because of Prince Aegon.

In his mind, Aegon could retake the throne once he reaches a certain age, and he could be there and help as much as possible.

When he had arrived and seen the bodies of Aegon Targaryen and Rhaenys Targaryen, it had taken everything for the knight to not cry or just try to kill Tywin for his crime.

Right now, Barristan was making his way towards his bedchamber; he thought why he was even here, why he was serving. It had been 6 years now, and The Baratheon king not only was not lessening his expenses, he doubled them.

A feast every single night. Ser Barristan shook his head in anger and desperation. Was this a curse? Will he ever serve another good king.

Perhaps it was his mood, but Ser Barristan didn't feel or hear Ser Jaime walking towards him until he suddenly grabbed his arm.

Ser Barristan almost drew his sword when he noticed that it was Ser Jaime.

"What are you doing?" Ser Barristan almost shouted at the Kingslayer.

Ser Jaime didn't answer right away; instead glanced around them, almost as if he was making sure that no one was around. Who could be around here? Ser Barristan found himself asking before Jaime leaned closer; Ser Barristan could feel his breath and wondered what his problem was.

"We need to talk, meet me in my chamber at the hour of the wolf," Jaime whispered; even Barristan barely heard him, Jaime tried to walk away, but this time Barristan grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to face his commander.

"Talk about what?" Barristan asked with a higher tone; he didn't want to walk into some kind of trap.

Jaime didn't answer him. Instead, he glanced around again; he looked nervous; Barristan couldn't remember the last time he was so nervous.

After checking around again, the green eyes of the Kingslayer turned to his commander again.

"Is about Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark,"