Westeros, 281 AC
Lord Whent's Great Tournament, Harrenhal
Robert Baratheon's hammer came down in a whistling arc, aiming to defeat the unknown Knight in one strike. Sand exploded where the head struck; The Knight was simply gone. "Hmph, I expected this to be more of a challenge. If Ser Arthur Dayne or Ser Barristan had taken part, it would have been more fun," the Knight said.
Robert laughed, a great bellow that shook the royal stand. "Dancing, are we? Stand and fight!"
"You have a loud mouth, you brat," Robert lunged, hammer high for an overhand smash, but the knight moved first. He slipped inside the swing with uncanny speed. A gauntleted fist snapped out, short, brutal, perfectly placed, and cracked across Robert's face.
The sound rang louder than steel. Robert staggered back a step, more surprised than hurt, blood trickling from his split lip.
"Oh, so there is Baratheon blood in you after all. Well then, do not just stand there. My old bones are only just getting warmed." the knight goaded him, his tone almost amused.
"HAH!" Robert lunged again with his hammer, attempting the same overhead smash. "I'll Kill You!"
"Are you stupid?" the knight said softly. He slipped aside again and backhanded Robert harder than before. The blow snapped Robert's head to the side. His legs betrayed him, knees buckling as the war hammer slipped from his grasp and fell into the sand with a dull thud.
He put his leg on the man's stomach, "Westeros, is this the best you can do?" he asked out loud.
***
Ashara Dayne
"I swear, anyone who takes pleasure in such brutality must be sick in the head." Elia drew Rhaenys closer, shielding the child's face. "Do not look at them, my sweet. We must never learn to enjoy such things."
"Oh, come now, Elia. You loathe the melee, and yet you do not care for the jousts. I do wonder why that is," Ashara teased, a glint of mischief in her smile. "Is it because your husband does not take part in the melee?"
"Hmph. It is nothing of the sort, Ashara. It is simply too bloody. Jousts spill far less blood," Elia said, her cheeks coloring despite herself. "You will understand when you are married."
Ashara laughed softly, but before she could reply, she felt a small tug at her gown. She looked down. A boy of perhaps three stood at her side, silver hair falling untidily about his face. His eyes, a deep amethyst, gazed up at her with curiosity.
"I cannot see," the boy said, pointing toward the arena. He raised his arms, asking without shame. "Please."
Elia's expression softened at once. "And who might this little fellow be?" she asked, her voice warm, her Dornish accent gentle on the words.
"Are you lost, little one?" Ashara asked, and the boy shook his head in denial. "No. My grandpa said he'd show me how to beat people up, so he told me to come here. But I can't see anything; everyone is too big." He lifted his arms again.
Amused by his antics, Ashara bent down and lifted the boy into her arms.
"I'm sorry to say this, little one, but as you can see, the fight has already ended." She watched his face fall, the excitement draining from it, and felt a flicker of sympathy. Ashara shifted him in her arms and bounced him lightly on her hip, drawing his attention back to her. "So," she said gently, brushing a stray lock of silver hair from his eyes, "who is your grandpa, little one?"
The boy raised a small finger and pointed toward the field. Ashara followed the gesture. Out on the sand, the unknown knight still stood where the fight had ended, one boot planted firmly atop Robert Baratheon's unconscious body.
"That's him," the boy said. The words made both Ashara and Elia blink in surprise. The child pointed again toward the field, where the knight still stood with one boot resting atop Robert Baratheon's unconscious body, and then suddenly clutched his head in alarm. "He's going to kill me," the boy added matter-of-factly, "if he finds out I went to play with a cat instead of coming here."
Ashara glanced at Elia, utterly at a loss for what to say. Elia looked no less bewildered than she did. "Oh! So that's your gwandpa!" little Rhaenys squealed suddenly, clapping her hands with delight. "He was so fast! He went like woosh! and then bam! and then the big man fell!"
Both women smiled in quiet relief, silently thanking the child for the rescue.
"That's right, Rhaenys, the big man fell, didn't he?" Elia said, smiling down at her daughter.
She looked at the boy's face, now beaming with pride. "That's right. Grandpa is the strongest man in the world. He can defeat a hundred big men like him easily."
Ashara chuckled softly at the certainty in his voice. "So what is your name, sweet boy?" she asked gently. "And how old are you?"
"My name is Aerion," the boy replied proudly. He lifted three small fingers into the air. "And I'm three namedays old."
"Aewon, can your gwandpa defeat anyone?" Rhaenys asked curiously.
Aerion looked down at her from Ashara's arms, his small chest puffing with confidence. "Yes. He can defeat any man in existence."
Ashara felt a sudden, unexpected curiosity stir in her chest. Now she dearly wished to see this mysterious old knight face her brother in the lists.
"Really?" Rhaenys leaned forward eagerly. "So he can even defeat the King?"
Her excited voice carried farther than intended, drawing a few curious glances from those seated nearby in the royal stand.
Aerion nodded just as eagerly. "My grandpa said the King wouldn't even be able to touch a single hair on his body."
Ashara and Elia exchanged amused smiles at the children's bold imagination.
"What!" The shout cracked through the stand like a whip. Both women paled instantly. Slowly, almost fearfully, they turned, hoping it was not the voice they thought it was.
Standing behind them was the Mad King himself, Aerys Targaryen. His pale, wild eyes burned with fury. At his side stood the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Gerold Hightower, tall and immovable as a tower of white stone. Beside him stood the newest knight of the Kingsguard, Ser Jaime Lannister, the Golden Lion.
"Will you repeat those words, boy?" Aerys demanded, his voice sharp with dangerous curiosity. Ashara's heart lurched. She tightened her hold on the child instinctively, drawing Aerion closer against her. "Don't say anything, Aerion," she whispered urgently into his ear.
Elia instinctively pulled Rhaenys closer to her, one arm wrapping protectively around the child.
"Forgive him, Your Grace," she said quickly, her voice careful and respectful. "He is only a boy."
"Shut up, you Dornish whore!" Aerys shrieked, his voice cracking with sudden fury. The words struck the air like a lash. Ashara stiffened, her grip tightening around Aerion as Elia went pale but said nothing more, her arms tightening around Rhaenys.
The king's burning gaze shifted back to the boy. "What did you say about me, boy?" Aerys demanded, leaning forward, his voice low and dangerous.
For a heartbeat, Ashara prayed the child would stay silent. Aerion did not.
He frowned down at the king with complete, fearless irritation. "Tch. Are you deaf, old man?" he said bluntly. "I said my grandpa can make you run without any effort."
Every face in the stand paled, even the Kingsguard. Cold fear seized Ashara's chest. She held the boy in her arms as tightly as she could.
"Bring me his head!" Aerys screamed, spittle flying from his lips. "Ser Jaime, get that boy here!"
Ashara turned instinctively, twisting her body to shield Aerion. She pressed the child's face into her shoulder, hiding him from the king's burning gaze. Nearby, Rhaenys clutched her mother's dress, her lip trembling as tears threatened to spill.
Jaime Lannister hesitated. "Do you not hear me?" Aerys shrieked, his voice rising into a frenzy. "I said, bring him to me!"
The Golden Lion stepped forward at last. But before he could take more than a single step,
An armored fist crashed across the side of his head.
The blow rang out like a struck bell. Jaime Lannister collapsed instantly, the white cloak of the Kingsguard crumpling into the dust as the single punch knocked the young knight senseless.
Before anyone could react, the knight from the field was suddenly there, standing beside Aerys, exactly where Jaime had been moments before.
None of them had even seen him approach.
An armored hand settled heavily on the king's shoulder, firm and immovable. With his other hand, the knight reached up and slowly removed his helmet. Steel scraped softly against steel as the helm came free.
"You truly have gone mad," the knight said calmly, his voice carrying easily through the stunned silence, "if you think you can threaten my grandson."
Ser Gerold Hightower had already drawn his sword, stepping forward to strike, but the moment he saw the knight's face, the blade slipped from his fingers. It clattered uselessly against the stone. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard stood frozen, his jaw hanging open in utter disbelief.
Rhaegar had just arrived at the edge of the royal stand, flanked by her brother Arthur and Ser Barristan.
The three men had clearly come in haste, the tension in the stands drawing them like moths to flame. Prince Rhaegar's violet eyes swept across the scene, the unconscious Jaime Lannister sprawled on the ground, his father trembling beneath the knight's iron grip, and the gathered nobles watching in stunned silence.
Beside him, Arthur Dayne had already gone still, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of Dawn. Ser Barristan Selmy stood just behind them, his weathered face grave as he assessed the situation.
None of them spoke. They were all staring at the man who had just removed his helmet.
"Pr… pri… Prince Maegor?" Gerold Hightower said shakily, his finger trembling as he pointed toward the old knight.
"Un… unc… uncle?" Aerys whispered. All madness had vanished from the king's face. In its place was something no one in that stand had ever expected to see upon the Mad King. Fear.
"Grandpa!" Aerion shouted in delight, wriggling in Ashara's arms.
Standing before them was Prince Maegor Targaryen, the son of Prince Aerion "Brightflame" and Princess Daenora Targaryen.
A man who, by blood and birthright, should have worn the crown of Westeros. If the lords of Westeros had not feared the shadow of his blood.
"Well, would you look at that," Maegor said with a low chuckle. "You have finally come to your senses." He reached out and patted Aerys lightly on the head. The gesture was so casual that the entire stand froze in stunned silence. The Mad King did not dare move.