Samwell
Damn these cold cellars. Up top and outside it was warm and the weather was delightful. Unfortunately neither of those would keep the wight from decaying more than it had. The damn thing had to be kept down in the chilliest place in the Red Keep to stop it from falling apart.
Sam nearly vomited the day it was brought out of the box and chained up in its new home. All the skin of its neck and back slid off like they were melting and slushed together in the crate. Thanks to his experience at the Wall with his brothers, he could keep his breakfast down that day. However, one of the guards helping could not.
"Remarkable," Qyburn commented as he jotted some notes into his study log meant specifically for the wight, "even after setting conditions perfectly clear to any man or beast that are inescapable, the creature continues to attempt attacking. It will not give up its purpose."
"Oh, it probably will one day," Sam commented as he ground up some dried herbs in a mortar, "once every single man, woman, and child is dead. They'll just be nothing for them then."
"Indeed. But do you know what else I discovered this morning before you arrived?" Qyburn motioned his hand to a vial of ruby red liquid glistening in the candlelight. "In that vial there is a very deadly poison from the nation of Yi Ti to the east. It is by far one of the most painful and dangerous in the world. One drop and it will eat away at the flesh. Look at our friend's right hand."
Sam took a peak at the wight's right hand and noticed that the flesh up to the wrist was completely gone. Only a tiny bit of mangled muscle and tendon held the bones together.
"Until now, this poison has been incurable. It is slow acting, but it cannot be washed or rubbed off. Only fire can stop it from taking its course of inflicting agonizing pain. But thanks to my research and willingness to harm, I have discovered how to heal."
Sam shook his head. "That's no better than saying Aerys Targaryen chose to be mad so he could understand how important peace is."
Qyburn laughed softly at Sam's comparison. "When a forest grows too vast, it becomes inevitable that a fire shall bring it down. The ashes that remain fertilize and enrich the soil so that what grows after will become stronger and better than before. The art of necromancy is a vile thing in the eyes of the simple minded. But when I am done, and my findings made light to the world, they will not reject or destroy them, but welcome the benefits with open arms. That is the fate of men like us, Samwell. No one will care about the purpose we seek to learn, only the results."
Qyburn continued on with his work adjusting the wight's chains so that it would have just a little extra movement. "Bring forth the rabbit. It's time to test a new theory."
Sam hated this, but it had to be done if they wanted to understand this magic enough to defeat it. He retrieved one of the rabbits, a white spotted brown one, and handed it off to Qyburn who had his knife ready. Without a moment's hesitation, Qyburn cut the rabbit's throat and let the creature bleed into a bucket.
Sam had seen his share of bloodshed, he had killed a Thenn before, and a White Walker, but killing a harmless creature like this made his stomach turn over. It didn't feel right. He'd feel better if they found a wild dog ridden with fleas spreading around disease or something like that.
The last of the rabbit's blood emptied from the body, Qyburn set the corpse down in front of the wight and used a wooden rake to push it closer enough that it was within arm's reach.
"They don't eat anything," Sam reminded Qyburn.
"Whoever said that this is a feeding?"
There was no reaction at first, the wight continued to thrash and squeal through the gag in its mouth. But then it stopped and looked down at the rabbit.
"Do you have the dragonglass knife?"
Sam reached at belt and pulled his dragonglass dagger free. "Yes."
The wight reached an arm down as far as it could in the direction of the rabbit and its eyes seemed to glow just a little brighter.
Then it happened.
The rabbit's body twitched without anything touching it. It twitched greater and the head started to move. A strange crackling noise came from the corpse and it started to move even more. Qyburn used the rake to pull the rabbit back to them. Just as it got close enough, the rabbit's body thrashed and it looked up at them with glowing blue eyes, the same as the wight's.
Sam panicked and lunged down at the creature with the dragonglass dagger, striking the rabbit right in the belly and killing it again.
"Fascinating," Qyburn said as he observed the rabbit's corpse, "the King's notes said nothing of this."
No they did not, and this development was one that Sam was unaware of as well. To his knowledge, the only way for the dead to be taken over by the Night King's magic was by the Night King himself or a White Walker. Now wights could do it as well?
"This doesn't make sense," Sam explained, "when we were attacked at the Fist, there were over two hundred men that died up there. Jon told me that the Wildings scouted out their bodies but it wasn't until they got there that they had gone. If wights can turn the dead too, then…"
"Perhaps this is a new discovery for their leader. Or perhaps he is becoming more powerful the larger his army becomes. King Aegon said that only the White Walkers who have been touched by him can use his magic of necromancy. But now, it seems that any soldier can, or perhaps they are conduits for his power, extensions of his reach. This creates so many questions that need answers."
"Right, such as how worse can this get?" If the Night King's soldiers could now turn other corpses into soldiers, then a battle against them only got even more impossible. Any man who died would immediately come back as one of them, replenishing all the numbers the Dead lose instantaneously.
"We just might find out soon enough." Qyburn's implication was in regards to the request he made at the last waning half moon for one of the wights held captive in Winterfell to be brought to the Red Keep for further experiments.
A shudder passed through Sam at the memory of the raven that came back. Lady barbrey Dustin was a terrifying woman in her response, saying that Qyburn should drag his slithering ass to North for his dark ways if he wanted to practice them.
Jon had explained to them that Lady Dustin hated maesters, which would make one think she'd appreciate an ex-maester. But this was how everyone learned that she did not. She loathed necromancers and the "dishonorable weasel" that Qyburn was. That day, everyone who saw the response agreed that Qyburn should not send any more ravens to the North. Jon sent the order and things had been underway. It would probably be a few more days before it arrived from transport down the King's Road.
Sam and Qyburn kept on their observations, this time using another rabbit but keeping it in a wooden cage. This time, the corpse reanimated but they did not try to kill it despite the vicious attacks it lashed out on the cage. Qyburn wondered if this type of action would weaken the wight in any way or if there was a limit as to what could be revived.
Finally, it was time to look for other ways to kill the creatures besides the three main ones, and maybe to see if they had become less effective with the wight's growing strength.
But the discussion and observations were interrupted by one of Jon's guardsmen.
"Tarly!" He shouted into the laboratory but keeping himself in the doorway, "The King wants you present in the Throne Room."
"Alright," Sam replied. He tossed his gloves off on the table with all their tools and laid his apron next to them. He was grateful to have all of this equipment, but for some reason there was a part of him that missed how nonchalant he could be at Castle Black.
While Sam made his way to the throne room, he kept asking himself what it was that Jon needed him for. He got his answer after five steps in entering and locking eyes with his father and Dickon. He stopped, frozen in place.
"Sam," Jon greeted, "glad you made it. How is your research going?"
Sam didn't respond immediately. He was too scared at first. His father wasn't armed but even then there was enough to be killed by the great Randyll Tarly.
"Um," he cleared his throat, "Not good, to be honest." He took a few steps closer to his friend. "Things are worse than we thought."
Jon turned his head in anger. "Fuck," he cursed under his breath, "we'll talk about it later. Your father here has promised allegiance if I turned you over to him. However, that isn't what I'm doing."
"What?" Randyll asked.
"You've given me your reasons and I find them childish for a grown man and seasoned warrior. He stole a sword that is technically his birthright as your eldest. But then again, you may have a custom similar to the Dayne's and their sword, needing a worthy warrior to carry it. Even so, I think Sam is absolutely worthy to have Heartsbane."
"Worthy?" Sam's father nearly exclaimed with a heavy scowl. Dickon took a step back. "He's a fat coward that hasn't the stones to be a man."
"How dare you!" Jon shot back, "if you knew half the deeds he has done at the Wall and Beyond you would kneel for forgiveness."
Sam's father snickered at that exclamation. "Oh yes, I have heard of his deeds from his wilding whore-"
"Don't you call her that!" Sam shouted and stepped forward at his father. The words had blurted out of his mouth as if they weren't his. His heart was pounding into his ears and a part of him greatly wanted to shut up and hide, but he wasn't going to. "She's not a bloody whore and she's got more right to be south of the Wall than half the people who already are!"
"Keep your tongue behind your teeth, boy," His father hissed, "it won't do you well to talk back to your father."
"I'm of the Night's Watch, my only family are my brothers. I miss the days you forced me to wear mother's dresses and bear the shame and laughter of everyone who saw, or when I was bathed in stag's blood."
"I did that to harden your spirit as a son of mine should have!"
Sam gave a chuckle, though for once it didn't sound as the awkward laugh of a man out of his element but as 'Sam the Slayer.' Hardened and confident. It… suited him. "Of course, Randyll Tarly couldn't have a son that would rather write about battles than participate in them."
"The Tyrells or Hightowers can have those weaklings… they don't have a proper tradition to uphold."
"Proper tradition." Sam truly enjoyed the red face and sputtering constitution of his father at that moment. "And I suppose when Dickon has his children you'll expect him to threaten death or the Wall to his heir if he prefers books to blades."
"What?" Dickon asked.
Sam pressed harder. "Did you have a special spot picked out for me in the woods if I didn't leave? Was it a nice meadow with enough wolves around to eat my flesh clean from the bone?"
"That's enough!" Randyll shouted.
"No!" Sam shouted back. "You are a lowly man compared to me. All you have ever done is fight in wars and hunt. I have defended the Wall from Wildlings and I am the first man in thousands of years to have killed a White Walker. I am a sword in the darkness, I am a watcher on the Wall, a shield that guards the realms of men. What are you compared to that?"
Sam stared down his father as Dickon walked up to Lord Randyll's side. "Father," he started, "did you really threaten to kill Sam if he didn't leave?"
Randyll looked at Dickon with a crack in his anger. "You wouldn't understand it. You were born as the son our House needed. I deserve you as my heir, not him. You deserve to wear my colors and carry Heartsbane into battle. But instead, your fat brother stole your inheritance."
Dickon looked nervously at Sam then back to their father. Then, he stepped back with his head hung down.
"King Aegon," Randyll said, "As long as this thief is in your halls, you shall not see the banners of House Tarly if you call and I shall not bend the knee to the friend of Wilding savages and delusional traitors. Psh, White Walkers," he spat at Sam's feet, "you reduce yourself to a slayer of storybook monsters to give yourself grandeur and glory. I should have taken you on the hunt without a choice."
"Storybook monsters," Jon said with crossed arms, "you don't believe us then, about the White Walkers?"
Randyll looked at Jon and scoffed with a smirk. "You are a Mad King like your grandfather."
A vein bulged at Jon's neck. "Very well. I was hoping loyalty meant something to you, but it seems you're the kind who does not trust on words alone. And for that, I pity you. I want to show you something."
"I'm returning home."
Jon snapped his fingers. His Kingsugard, Ser Beric, Ser Wallace, and Ser Remus all drew their swords and four guardsmen marched to the doors, blocking off Randyll's escape.
"I wasn't asking, Lord Tarly. I was ordering. You can walk there yourself or get dragged. It's your choice."
Sam's father was red faced with rage as he watched Jon start to walk away. The three Kingsguard came up behind Randyll but the proud lord found enough humility to follow after the King.
Sam followed next to Dickon and hurried after. If what Jon was about to do was what Sam thought he would, then he didn't want to miss this. Sure enough, Jon was leading them all to the laboratory.
Jon stood at the door to the laboratory and looked back at everyone. "Alright, my lord, I'll make you a deal. If you can enter this room and remain in here long enough to say that the monsters that don't exist, in fact don't exist, then Sam, Heartsbane, and the entirety of the Reach itself shall be yours by my order." Jon opened the door, grabbed Randyll Tarly by his shirt and pulled him inside.
"How dare you-" Randyll's words were overpowered by the squeelings of the wight. It seems Qyburn took the gag off for some reason but it made Sam smile to see the terrified look and his father's face. "Oh!" Randyll exclaimed but Jon pulled him inside further.
"Come now, my lord," Jon said casually as he forced Randyll closer, "it's not real of course, just a trick is all. A story to scare children."
"Let me go!" Randyll exclaimed. "Release me!"
"What for? There's nothing to fear. It can't harm you because it doesn't exist." Jon's grip finally released when they got to the bottom of the steps. Dickon was at the top with his mouth agape and too afraid to follow after his father.
Randyll tried to get out of the laboratory, but the guards blocked him off from leaving.
Jon kept his eyes on the wight for a few seconds before looking back at Randyll with more fury than Sam had ever seen as the wight continued screaming.
"For fuck's sake," Sam growled, walking down the steps and brandishing the dragonglass dagger. He came two steps from the wight's reach. "Shut it!" He shouted, holding up the dagger and wight was reduced to silence, backing away from the dagger and keeping close to the wall.
"Lord Tarly," Jon continued, "what was your decision again?"
Randyll, who hid himself next to Dickon, looked at the wight again then back to Jon. "House Tarly swears its allegiance to the crown, your grace."
Jon looked at the wight and his fists tightened. "I've had enough of it all." he growled. "I will not allow proud men and squabbles for power to persist across the realms without consequence. Qyburn."
Sam tensed from the fierce look Jon gave his mentor. "Yes, your grace?"
"Send a raven to the Citadel that I am decreeing any House who does not commit to aiding against the threat beyond the Wall will be branded as traitors and cowards. I will attain and denounce their family's lands, titles, ranks, and holdings. This is my word." Jon's gaze shifted back to Sam's father. "How many men can you raise in a fortnight, Lord Tarly?"
Randyll swallowed. "Roughly seven thousand, your grace."
"The Wall is in a sorry condition and even with some of the best men I know manning it, it can be improved. You and seven thousand of your men will be going to the Wall to aid the Night's Watch. I'm not ordering you to take the black, only command alongside the current Lord Commander and strengthen the defenses. Understood?"
Sam's father shuttered when he looked at the wight again. "Yes, your grace."
Jon nodded to the guards who parted ways and Randyll rushed out of the room, but Dickon remained.
Sam watched his brother descend the steps and approach him. "I'm sorry, Sam." The weight of his words felt that it was meant for more than just the teases and looks of shame he got when they were boys.
"It's alright, Dickon."
Dickon looked at the wight once before rushing back up the steps to join his father.
Sam sighed and nearly fell back on a stool next to one of the tables.
"You alright?" Jon asked.
"I don't know," Sam replied. "I've never stood up to my father that way. I feel like I just faced the White Walker all over again. But the look on his face when he saw the wight made all the shit I've waded through worth it. But Jon… are you sure that's the right move?" He asked cautiously. "I mean, I know how dangerous the Dead are, but no one's going to take such a decree sitting down without a word."
"I know, Sam. Why don't you go spend the rest of the day with Gilly. You've earned it and I think she might like to hear how this all went with your father."
"Aye," Sam nodded, his bravery lifting up his spirits. She might pounce on him for this.
"Your grace," Qyburn prodded, "a word, please." They marched out of the laboratory, leaving Sam wondering if he misread things between Jon and the beautiful women surrounding him. His friend always seemed quite… affected by the beautiful Dragon Queen, but that was obvious to even him.
Perhaps he was wrong?
Perhaps not? Gilly was always more observant than he was on these things.
Jon
Night gathered, and now the selection would begin. The courtyard of the Red Keep was cleared, the castle guard numbered in fifty surrounding the grounds where the knights came and presented themselves to see if they would be worthy of Aegon the Red's Kingsguard.
A small dias had been erected so that all could be seen by Jon as he overlooked the ordeal. Joining him was Ser Jaime at his side, with Beric, Wallace, and Remus standing in front of the box at eye level with the potentials. Sansa, Davos, the Blackfish, and Olenna were sitting at by on a set of bleachers, and to no surprise, Daenerys, Tyrion, Missandei, Varys, and Ser Jorah were observing from the tops of the balconies surround the yard on the opposite side.
There were forty two men in total that had come for selection into the Kingsguard. Luckily there was room for them all. Some were dressed in their armor and had banners of their House accompanying them while others wore fine clothes, and then those who were not knights and from the common places of the realms were dressed simple. Some were a tad fat, some skinny, but most were strong and had the eyes of battle and skill. And then there were some faces Jon recognized. He was surprised to see Loras Tyrell among the candidates, and then there was another man he met this morning, Lord Yronwood's nephew. Marcal or Marcus?
"Now then," Jon announced, "I thank you all for coming and bringing forth yourselves for this prestigious occasion." Prestigious occasion? Who was he, Mace Tyrell? All this lordly talk was stupid but Sansa was adamant that he gives proper appearance to his subjects. "Before we get started," he took forth the piece of paper from his sleeve containing the list Qyburn gave him, "There are several of you that are of great interest to me. Step forward if your name is called. Ser Simon Bourney," an older knight black of hair except at the sides and a groomed mustache stepped forth and bowed forward, "Ser Timothy Darke," One of the younger knights in fine dress did the same as Ser Bourney, "Ser Tytos Vikary, Ser Petyr Terrick, and Ser Myles Staedmon." The other three men came forward, totalling five, all ranging from young and Old, armored to fine dress, but all with one thing in common. "I hereby place each of you under arrest for crimes against the realms, murder, rape, thievery, and others," Before the men could react, Jon's men had their spears aimed forward and surrounded the five men.
"This is preposterous!" Ser Staedmon cried up to Jon, "You have no proof of the charges!"
Jon turned his head, "Qyburn?"
Qyburn stepped forward. "Ser Myles Staedmon, murdered three innocent men before the rape of two girls, daughters of one of the murdered. A third sister had witnessed and confessed the crime but through your connections you had the matter buried. Ser Tytos Vikary, murderer of multiple fishermen and theft of goods, sold for high sums before the Battle of Blackwater Bay," Qyburn continued through with each of the charges and the events within. Each man was silent as the grave and forced to their knees.
"Now then," Jon continued, "given that you all are trained men and have been in combat, it is a waste to have you all executed. There is a ship leaving for Eastwatch today, and you shall be traveling on it in chains to take the black. If you have any objections, then I shall apologize for my refusal to house you in a cell and shall let my blade meet your neck." There seemed to be no objections, the murderers dumbfounded and looking at each other as if someone among them had a solution. But then Ser Staedmon opened his foolish mouth once again.
"I demand trial by combat! I will not go off and freeze at the Wall with lesser men!"
Jon's men slammed the tips of their shields in the ground, flinching the loud knight from going near his sword.
"Despite his rule being false," Jon began, "King Tommen outlawed trial by combat and I will continue such as his reasons were true." He nodded to one of the guards and began his march down the steps. Ser Staedmon tried to draw forth his sword, but two of Jon's guards seized him too fast in anticipation. A block was brought and the other guilty was forced aside and disarmed.
Ser Staedmon struggled as his neck was forced upon the block. "Let me go! I am an anointed knight! My cousins will be furious at this offense."
Jon stood next to the knight and drew Blackfyre forth, resting the tip in the dirt. "If you have any last words, Ser, now is the time."
Ser Staedmon spat at Jon's feet, missing by a few inches. "Mad blood, just like your rapist father and mad grandfather!"
With calm eyes, Jon took one last look at the pitiful knight before swinging Blackfyre swift and steady, severing the man's head cleanly. Without a second thought, Jon sheathed his sword and began his return up to the balcony as the body was cleared away.
"Take them away," Jon waved and each man was dragged out of the courtyard. Some of the squires who had accompanied shuffled in place, nervous and unsure of what to do. "I recommend you send letters informing the respective Houses of what transpired here." The squires were excused and the quick part was over.
"The rest of you," Jon said, "that was the first part of weeding out the unworthy. For too long have the Kingsguard been made of knights unfaithful to their vows. Men like Meryn Trant who beat little girls instead of a practice dummy like he should have, people like Mandon Moore who betray the ones he's sworn to protect. The men I need are those who possess the skills in combat only found in one man among a thousand, men of loyalty to their duties as knights to the utmost, and most of all men of honor who do not stain their name in a whorehouse or corersing the poor for what little they have just for an extra silver in their purse. As it stands, there are now thirty seven of you here, but only three positions available. There were four, but one was filled recently by a man from Flea Bottom I knighted for displaying everything I need for my Kingsguard."
Many of the knights looked amazed that something so scandalous as knighting a commoner was in the King's mind, but the common men present looked hopeful, eager even. Perhaps there were diamonds in the rough, but then again maybe not. Now was the time to find out.
"Line up, all of you," Jon ordered and each man followed suit, creating a single row of thirty two men. "I'm going to ask you three questions, and if your answer to any of them is yes, then you will take a step forward to me, and if the answer is no then simply remain in place and we shall see who comes closest to my requirements." Jon had to thank Tyrion for this method after the selection was done. He would have had to spend a few days instead of an afternoon interviewing each knight, figuring out their true goals, but this way, it would be easier.
It was time to ask the first question. "As a Kingsguard, would you follow my orders without question?"Almost every single man in the line took a step forward. Only seven remained standing where the rest began. "As a Kingsguard, if a close member of your family was brought before me as a confessed traitor of the highest and I ordered you to kill them, would you?" Again, the majority stepped forward, only five remained standing from the first step and one of the men from the first question who didn't move first came forward. "And lastly, If I ordered the death of the members of an enemy House who were within my reach, men, women, and children, would you carry it out even if it meant cutting the throat of a babe at its mother's breast?" All but two men took the final step forward and they were joined by two others from behind, but none of the remaining five who hadn't moved on the first question stepped forward, they remained.
"Very good. To those of you who took all three steps," the faces of the knights all looked proud for their honesty and would-be conviction, "I have no need for men who would betray the vows of their knighthood. You are dismissed." Shock painted nearly all their faces, only for Jon to ignore them as he pointed to the other two men who stepped forward at that question in the line behind, "you two as well.. Thank you for coming," all together, each of the men in question looked betrayed and insulted. Then again, it wasn't just the knights who came for candidacy, but all of Jon's men watching the exchange were surprised.
"Leave now!" Beric exclaimed down at them. Some scowled and walked out furiously while others looked upset at being fooled.
"Those of you in the second line," Jon continued, "A Kingsguard's loyalty is to their King before their family, but do not be so ready to abandon family ties. Before you are dismissed, I will offer a chance to serve in the Targaryen Royal army as lieutenants. You will recruit men, train them, and then lead them into battle as their commanders, if you choose this path offered." While some appeared reluctant and disappointed, there were several who had interest in their eyes as they left. "As for the third line," or rather the only man there, one of the commoners, "Those who stay their blade against the innocent are noble in heart, but should not act blindly to another. Your will to decide is just as valuable and important as your skill with a blade. I extend the chance of knighthood to you, and a place in the household guard working with my Master of Law, Ser Brynden Tully, assisting him in commanding the City Watch and potentially becoming Lord Commander."
The commoner fell to one knee. "Your grace, I accept at once!"
Jon nodded, "very well. You will be brought to the Blackfish and he shall grant all that I have promised unto you."
"Thank you, your grace! I swear to the gods, the Old and the New, and my sister's grave that I will not betray nor disappoint you!" He left with pride and a head held high. Now things would reveal if the man saw through the questions, or meant them and would now face the difficulties of having a taste in power.
"And for the five of you," Jon said to the remaining. There were no commoners left, only highborn. "You have earned the right to be one of my Kingsguard. But there are two too many. As such for the previous two dismissal, those who do not become shall be offered positions that deserve men like you. The Red Keep is without a Master at Arms and a Captain of the Guard."
Each of them looked at each other, staring through to see if their competition had what it took to wear the white cloak.
"Now that the test of character is done, we begin the next test." Jon removed his cloak and handed it off to one of his men, trading for Blackfyre. He drew the blade free and gently stamped the tip into the ground. "As I said, you must have skill with the sword if you are to fulfill the duties required. So who's first?"
There was clear hesitancy to draw steel at the King, but of all the men present, the first to step forward for the chance was the Yronwood man.
Jon nodded. "It's Marcal, isn't it? Or is it Marcus?"
"Marcus, your grace. Ser Marcus Yronwood." Lord Ander's nephew. He was not dressed in armor, but he did have a squire carrying his House's banner. Marcus drew his sword, the only scimitar among the other swords, featuring a gazelle head pommel instead of a gate motif, and both he and Jon took their respective ready stances.
"After you," Jon offered, and Marcus began his display of quick strikes, coming from below fast but not impossible to dodge or parry. Jon could have blocked with Blackfyre with an advance forward at the same time, drawing his dagger and pressing the tip to Marcus's chin, but he needed to see the skill among the men here, and they needed to see the skill of who they would each potentially be fighting alongside.
Jon stepped back, letting the sword miss and immediately blocked the sword when the angle quickly changed for another slash. To Jon's surprise, he found the experience fighting Marcus a change of pace because of the curved blade the scimitar had. This was the first time he ever fought someone using a curved blade.
Marcus proved to be a duelist more than a fighter. It was clear that he was not a man who has been in war. All men who have fought in battles had similar movements than those who fought for sport. Regardless, he was still a damn good swordsman, he just needed improvement.
The duel was drawn out by Jon's choice. He wanted to get a read on his potential protectors as best he could. Finally, he decided to end it after a parry, stepping forward and punching Marcus in the face while tripping him on the ground, pressing Blackfyre's tip a hair's distance away from Marcus's neck.
"Good!" Jon said, "very good. I've seen all I need from you and I am impressed." He lifted Blackfyre away and offered his hand.
"Thank you, your grace," Marcus said, taking hold and getting pulled up while checking his nose.
Jon twirled Blackfyre in his hand and looked at the other four. "Who's up next?"
The next four fights were just as exciting. Each man had his own techniques and strengths. For Brendan Ironsmith, it was that he was strong, probably just as strong as the Hound but not as tall. Still, he wasn't as fast as he could be, and Jon found three openings to whack the flat of the blade against Brendan when he could have used the edge and killed him.
Loras Tyrell was different. He was good, but his style was a bit too flashy, as though he were fighting in front of a crowd. But his skill was there. He just needed more training against better fighters and not living practice dummies.
As a bit of fun, Jon had Clarence Cordwayner and Creighton Redfort fight him at the same time to see how well two strangers would adapt and fight together. Cordwayner proved to seek the fight for himself but Redfort did put in some effort to fight with his ally and not just be two separate men attacking differently.
Regardless, two men were not enough and fighting together didn't save either knight from getting knocked on their asses.
"Well done, all of you. It's about time I fought some good swordsmen."
"Honestly, your grace," Ser Cordwayner said, panting, "you might be better off without a guard. We'd just get in your way." The other knights shared in laughter.
Had Jon gotten to have his way, he wouldn't have had a Kingsguard at all. This was just a formality and they'd be without purpose after the war if things go according to Jon's plan.
"I have come to my choices. I want you all to know that your devotion thus far is greater than most, and I am honored to have met each of you." Jon brought a hand to his breast and proceeded to bow his upper body for a good few seconds to the five knights, stunning them all. When he straightened, he revealed the choices. "Ser Marcus, Ser Loras, and Ser Creighton, I choose the three of you as my new Kingsguard."
The three of them fell to one knee, Marcus gasping from excitement while Loras kept quiet and brooding.
"Brendan, Ser Clarence, my offer still stands to both of you. Brendan, I would offer and personally ask of you to be the new Master at Arms of the Red Keep. And Ser Clarence, I would name you as a sworn sword to the Hand of the King if you accept." Cordwayner's fighting told Jon all he needed to know that being Captain of the Red Keep guard wouldn't bode well for him.
"Your grace," Brendan fell to one knee, "I accept."
Cordwayner's eyes looked to the ground. "I will decline your offer, your grace."
"Very well," Jon said, "I will not hold anything against you. Thank you for your time and your willingness to try."
Cordwayner bowed and took his leave peacefully.
"Brendan, I'll meet with you in the morning with Ser Brynden Tully and we'll get you settled."
"Yes your grace," Brendan Ironsmith rose up and was excused.
"You three," Jon pointed to each of his newest guardians, "get yourselves ready for the ceremony tomorrow. No arms or armor, as you'll need them made first. Each of you will be receiving a Valyrian steel blade in due time. May it serve you well when you get them." Michael Redfort looked at the other two in excitement at the news of new steel. "Tomorrow morning, in the throne hall. Don't be late."
And when the three men left, Jon sighed and sheathed Blackfyre as anger took over because of the excitement and pride he felt. He thought himself a fool for feeling this way. He wasn't some green boy making friends, he was finding good men to be good knights for his successor, that's all. He shouldn't take it to heart like this.
"Well," Tyrion said when Jon walked out of the courtyard to find him waiting right there for him, "that went rather spectacularly if I do say so."
"Indeed it did," Jon agreed in a pleasant tone. "Thank you again for the idea. I'll be sure to uphold my end of the bargain. Is the sword going to be for someone in your Queen's company?"
"No," Tyrion smirked, "I want the blade to go north. It's time I properly repaid the loyalty of my squire."
"Well technically I'll be repaying the loyalty. A Targaryen always pays a Lannisters debts."
Tyrion chuckled. "I wish I could have been there the day you were crowned. Not just to see Jaime's face or Bronn's release, but to see you as well. I've always dreamed of a day when a great King would find his way to the Iron Throne and not a whoremonger like Robert or a vicious idiot like Joffrey. Someone like my brother, or even your brother, Robb. And now here you are, righting the mistakes that crumbled the Throne's authority in the last twenty years. I'm certain Ned Stark and Rhaegar would be proud of you."
Jon felt the sincerity in Tyrion's words, but his doubt in such a claim would ring true if either man lived to see all that he had done. Ned Stark might've lectured him that an oath was an oath, and the Wall was his duty even after death.
"Thank you, Tyrion," he said, accepting the praise, "I'm off to bed now. I wish you a good night."
"A pleasant night to you as well, your grace." Tyrion tipped his head and they parted ways.
The following morning, Jon assembled all the candidates in the throne room along with the current Kingsguard, Davos, Sansa, Ser Brynden, Qyburn and Sam, and Olenna to witness the induction of the new Kingsguard.
To his surprise, Daenerys and her council did not intend to be present, as Daenerys decided that such a sacred ceremony was not for the eyes and ears of a foreign ruler. In all honesty, Jon did not care about the sacredness that much, but if it was what she decided, then so be it.
Jon took his seat on the throne and his three new members for the Kingsguard presented themselves. "Ser Beric, Ser Jaime, Ser Remus, and Ser Wallace, today we complete the ranks of the new Kingsguard of House Targaryen. But, after much time to ponder and consider things, I have decided that there shall be a change in the Kingsguard oath."
"Your grace?" Beric asked, looking at him puzzled.
"Therefore, the four of you will join the others to be reinstated under a new oath." Jon nodded to Beric, and he along with the others hesitantly joined Ser Loras, Ser Creighton, and Ser Marcus. "Kneel," Jon ordered as he stood with Blackfyre drawn and descended down the steps to each of the men.
All of the knights fell to one knee with their heads bowed.
"The sun rises, and a new day begins, the first day of a service that shall not end until death. From this day on, do you swear your life and honor to serve and protect the King of Westeros?" Jon paused and collectively, the knights answered.
"I swear." They said in near perfect unison.
"Do you swear to wear no title, hold no lands, win no glory, father no children, and take no wife?"
"I swear," they said again.
"Do you swear to live and die as members of the King's guard, to carry out his will for the Seven Kingdoms?"
"I swear."
Jon paused before he was able to ask his new addition. "And if your King forsakes his duty to the people, falls into the mind of unjust destruction and cruelty, do you swear to fulfill your vows as knights and protect the people from him?"
There was no immediate response. Beric looked up at him in shock, the three recruits looked at each other, but finally someone broke the silence.
"I swear," said Ser Jaime.
The other knights followed Ser Jaime's example. "I swear," they said in a broken unison.
Jon walked up to each man and tapped him twice gently on the shoulders. "Arise now, as protectors of the King, charged with his protection from those who seek him harm and death, and from himself."
The seven knights arose and Jon called out loudly for the doors to open. When they did, three of the castle servants entered, each of them carrying white cloaks and steel helms. They were presented to each of the new Kingsguard. Jon sheathed Blackfyre and personally donned the cloaks and helms on each man.
"Welcome to the Kingsguard, Sers." He said proudly.
"Your grace," Ser Creighton spoke up, "what do you mean for us to do about… that one part of the oath?"
"I think you already know. But if you don't, ask Ser Jaime. He's done it already and saved a million lives because he did."
All eyes, even the servants, looked straight at Ser Jaime whose jaw was clenched and his eyes unsure when he looked at Jon.
Now, from this day onward, if the Kingsguard deemed it worthy, they were within their right to strike down the very man they were sworn to protect.