Seeds of Dissent

[Arthur's POV]

As the training of the royal guards continued, they began looking more like a proper household guard rather than a band of misfits. Once they passed the basics of combat, Arthur observed where each man's strengths lay. While some people thrived in melee combat, others were better for riding or archery. Given that he was aiming to make them battle-ready as swiftly as possible, Arthur made every man focus on their strengths. Rather than being good at everything, he wanted them to be elite at one thing. Their fellow guardsmen would cover for their weaknesses.

However, no matter what they specialised in, every man would continue their physical training - albeit tweaked to suit their strengths better. Rhaerra was with the archers for the first time, who had numbered the greatest - per Edric's desire. This time, instead of the usual bickering under Taelor, everyone stood in silence as if they had been frozen.

"Before you fire, ensure that you've chosen your target. Then, steady your feet and take a deep breath - keep yourself still. Nock your arrow, and once you've fully drawn… fire!" She gave a demonstration, hitting the dummy right where his eye would've been. "Don't hold it for too long. Not only do you strain yourself and waste time, but you also lose strength in your shot and accuracy with it. To be a deadly archer, you must be swift and decisive."

"Right… now you lot try it."

The trainees ate it up like the finest advice in the world, yet Taelor had taught similar things before. They seemed to listen far better this time around, though… and it showed. They began making steadier progress.

"The magic of a beautiful woman asking you to do it against someone as dull as Taelor." Valaegor chuckled, observing beside Arthur. 

"You know, I'm right here." Taelor crossed his arms. "And I am not dull. They're just bad listeners."

"Not today." 

"I've seen His Grace turn peasant boys who hadn't seen a true battle into demons," Arthur recalled Mistwood. Though many of them had died, they left their mark on the mountain clansmen. "I suppose it's a matter of charisma and leadership. Simply being good at one skill does not mean you would necessarily be good at teaching it."

"... Mhm. You have no leadership qualities to speak of." Valaegor added, glancing at Taelor with a grin.

"Says you. I wouldn't trust you to lead a herd of sheep."

While Arthur was observing, a man from Renly's household guard approached. 

"The Lord Regent requests your presence in the Great Hall, Ser."

"... Very well." Arthur nodded. "I'll be on my way. Valaegor, care to take my place for the meantime?"

"You mean babysitting?" Valaegor laughed. "Sure, whatever."

"I appreciate your enthusiasm."

"What's this?" Rhaerra suddenly joined them. "Something about the Great Hall?"

"I don't recall Renly asking for you." Valaegor raised an eyebrow.

"I'm curious as to what he has to say. It must be something entertaining. The Lord Regent is that - if anything." 

"More jester than a ruler," Valaegor remarked.

"Try not to make treasonous remarks that would get you into unneeded troubles." Arthur smiled slightly.

"Try to remember I'm not under the Realm's jurisdiction."

"And yet you wish to be one of the King's men." Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You should be setting an example for the men you're training."

"... Well."

"He got you there." Rhaerra laughed.

After leaving Valaegor in charge, Arthur rode from the practice fields to the Red Keep alongside Rhaerra, who had grown quite enamoured with the gossip of the court. She seemed to know every little rumour and piece of news as soon as it emerged. In this way, she reminded him of Dorian. Despite her low birth, she blended right in with the ladies of nobility, and soon enough, it looked as if they revolved around her.

Today, the Great Hall was buzzing with life, as per the Lord Regent's desire. Arthur heard that there was prevalent news that all needed to know. He wondered what was of such importance…

"You arrived swiftly, Ser," Renly remarked with a smile. "Or do you prefer sergeant?"

"Whichever suits you. Besides, it's my duty to respond to the Lord Regent's summons promptly in the absence of His Grace."

"I believe an ordinary title such as Ser overlooks your great accomplishments at such a young age." Renly stroked his chin. "Surely, such a prodigious knight deserves more."

"His Grace has named me Knight of Nightfall before."

"How very creative. Imagine if the Sword of the Morning was called the Knight of Dawn!" Renly chuckled. "Surely he could do better than that."

"He's not the best with names." Arthur smiled slightly. "Though, I do not believe titles matter much. It is the deeds of a knight that determine his worth."

"That may be true, but some knights do certainly benefit from a fine title. Think… Aemon the Dragonknight. Ser Aemon Targaryen does not sound quite as moving, does it? We often prefer the sound of things rather than their true worth. Though, that is not to say that the Dragonknight was not worthy."

"I understand what you mean." Arthur nodded. "I'm not too concerned with it, however."

"Vanguard of the Eventide. Guardian of the Twilight. Bearer of the Nightflame." Renly began firing off names no slower than Edric would arrows. "Hmm… Champion of the Stars, Umbral Sword, the Evenfall Knight…"

"The Eclipse," Rhaerra added. "The Eclipse Knight."

"Brings an air of dread," Arthur noted. "I'd prefer something that sounds inspiring, if I did have a title."

"Dread is no less useful, Ser. What opposition would the King face when his faithful knight is seen as one who blocks out the sun?"

Arthur pondered over it.

"Given your youth, there's plenty of time to make your fame. Regardless… I shouldn't keep all these courtiers waiting."

Arthur nodded.

Renly smiled, turning away to the Iron Throne and making his ascent. The Hand stood to the side, not looking all too flattered. He rarely did. Though, Arthur did admire his steadfast approach towards justice and honour. He was a man of duty… without doubt.

When Renly sat down, a wave of silence washed over the Great Hall as men quietened. The Lord Regent sat rather comfortably on the Iron Throne in the King's absence. Well, as comfortably as you could be with all those rusted blades of iron.

"Now, you must all be curious as to why I've gathered so many of you so hastily." Renly's gaze swept up the room. "Not long ago, news came from Highgarden that the lady Margaery of Tyrell had displayed clear signs of being with child. Though, as many of you have rumoured, the father is no ordinary man…"

Everyone in the court knew where this was going. 

"This child shall be my nephew's, the King's, very own firstborn!"

Renly announced with endless fervour as the court erupted in cheers under his influence, deafening those in disfavour. Arthur was one of them, feigning a smile. After the announcement, a feast would begin. In that regard, Renly was not too different from Robert. The Baratheons enjoyed their celebrations. All but one, anyway.

"What do you look so displeased?" Rhaerra questioned, smiling slightly. "Your greatest friend will be a father at ten-and-three, displaying quite the virility. He is sure to have enough heirs to foster an army of his own!"

"I don't think it's what he truly wanted." Arthur shook his head slightly.

"Few things ever go as we intend them to." She replied, shrugging. "The difference between thriving and coming short is whether or not you adapt to the unexpected. This situation could still very well play into his advantage in the future if he wishes."

"What do you mean?"

"Edric has only lost some honour and grace, which he can easily overshadow with a few great deeds," Rhaerra explained. "But Margaery's maidenhood is not something that can be restored. Inadvertently, they have tied themselves to him whereas he has not."

"Politics," Arthur remarked with a sense of distaste. "The whole world seems to revolve around it. Everyone is out for themselves, what they can gain, rather than seeing the bigger picture."

"Not everyone is so ideal and noble, ser. In truth, those who see this greater picture are too far and few in between. It all seems so well now, but the stability of this Realm rests on one person's shoulders alone... if Edric were to vanish, it would all crumble into dust."

"Surely not." Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Lord Stannis... would be the heir."

"And do you think the Lord Regent would fall in line? Would the rest of the Realm accept him as their King? It is a fickle thing, this unity. One piece falls, and a dozen more follow, one after the other..."

The burden seemed all the more greater to Arthur, who wondered how Edric faired in the North. This taste of freedom was refreshing - and so was training the men under him, yet something had been missing. In truth, he'd have rather been there by his side rather than in King's Landing.

Alas, he had been given his duties and intended to fulfil them.

Arthur's celebration had been light, where he ate his fill and only drank a slight bit. During this time, he heard a few stark conversations with his keen hearing. 'When one isn't talking, they shall hear all the more'... that is something Edric had once told him.

"Not all that much has changed. We traded Robert for a more youthful one."

"Not even Robert had been so daring as to target a lady of a great house."

"Target? This was nothing more than a bid for power from the Tyrells. The whore knew what she was doing when she slipped into a drunken boy's chambers. In all of this, the King is innocent."

"This will not be the last time, I am sure. The apple does not fall far from the tree, and I fear that this boy might be worse than his father."

He had listened in silence, pretending to drink and observe the dancing. By worse, it seemed like they suggested something akin to Aegon the Unworthy. Arthur did not believe them, yet he had no intention of making a scene and trying to justify it. The future would speak for itself.

After the celebration, he would return and join in on the training before night fell. Once it was dark, he returned to the White Sword Tower. It had been eerily empty recently... as if a relic of the past. For a moment, he strangely felt like he had been the last of the Kingsguard.

He shook this feeling off and walked over to the White Book, reading over a few pages as he had done many times before. He had been practising his penwork for months now, styling it after the White Book and still felt inadequate.

After staring at the outdated pages of his brothers, he took a deep breath and put ink to paper. Slowly but surely, carefully written words came, on after the other. He had practised them a hundred times before... knowing there was no room for error. These words would be immortalised for hundreds of years to come, after all.

Eventually, he updated all of the passages, but his own. It felt strange to write about his own deeds. He would have much preferred if the Lord Commander had done so. Despite this hesitation, once he started, he didn't stop... completing the White Book momentarily.

There will be more in time.

...

During one restless night, Arthur had woken up from a dream of a burning world. His body had felt not too different, as if he were sick... yet he had no reason to be. He looked to Nightfall, which rested within arm's reach. Instinctively, he sat up and drew it from its sheath.

He saw flashes of a dragon breathing into its steel, over and over again... yet the blade had remained black, as if all the flames had been swallowed by it.

Was this a magic trait of Nightfall? From what he knew, while Valyrian Steel could endure fire, he didn't know of a case where it strengthened the blade. Or... was this his own ability. Perhaps it was a mix of both. When it came to magic, it was as great of a mystery as any other to Arthur.

He went over to a torch that had yet to be ignited. He channelled his recently awakened magic, and saw a spark of a flame light up in the darkness. He concentrated further, spreading this spark to the torch. Within seconds, it ignited fully.

He grabbed the torch and casually held it against the blade... yet the light did not seem to dim all that much. Afterwards, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and concentrated on replicating his tournament showing.

Almost like the wind, a whoosh sound erupted.

When Arthur had opened his eyes, the fire from the torch was gone. All that remained was the moonlight from the chamber's window. The burning feeling in his body seemed to fade away... as if it had been let out all at once. He looked at the blade and felt the heat. It was almost as if the room itself was boiling.

All of this power had been building up inside...

He glanced at the sheathe and knew full well that returning it now would not be a good idea. He found a way to hang it by the hilt without the blade touching anything as he hastily dressed up. In the night, he'd go out and see if he could release the heat into the sky - sort of how Edric would channel his lightning into an arrow.

He focused and slashed upwards, watching as a trail of black flames erupted out and soared into the skies. An unfortunate bird had been caught by it, burning to a crisp in a mere instant. Arthur watched in bewilderment at this sort of strength.

It gave him hope, in a way. Hope that Edric wouldn't become so powerful that he would never have any use for him. He had been like that of recent... fighting more and more by himself. Before, he used to fight alongside him, and even rely on his strength, but now...

'This power of mine... the flames raging inside... it was my body telling me to grow.' Arthur realised, tightening his grip on Nightfall. 'Grow and adapt, or perish.'

After that, Nightfall had cooled down, and Arthur found himself falling into sleep almost the instant he put head to pillow.

[Edric's POV]

For the first time in a while, Edric decided to go on a more stealthy stroll. He hadn't trained his Serpent discipline tree much - being more occupied by other, more urgent matters. Yet, he was always curious as to what was the real thoughts of those in the Nightfort. All seemed well enough on the surface wherever he went... but this was only natural. His presence washed away all forms of descent.

The Nightfort was quite large, with many chambers, so Edric simply slipped by from corridor to corridor. He knew how to be quiet, despite his size. In the night, most men slept except for those keeping watch... but no one kept watch within the walls. Except for his own Kingsguard when he slept, of course.

It was easy to move around without making noise... until he heard something of interest. He glanced at Raiden and directed her to take a look. In response, she warped through the wall for a clearer hearing. After they finished talking, Raiden left, and he made his way to an empty yard.

"So... what were they talking about?"

"For how long do we have to bend our knees and build castles for these southerners? We could be far down south, enjoying the heat and fertile lands. We wouldn't be fighting for scraps and doing the crow's work for em." Raiden Shogun repeated what she had heard. "Then the other said... 'as soon as the King leaves far enough, we can free ourselves. There are plenty who think the same.'"

"The temptation to break down that door and put them all to the sword..." Edric remarked with an expression of sharp disapproval. "There are plenty who think the same, they said... how hopeless is this endeavour of mine? Was I wrong to put effort into it? Would it have just been better to slay them all?"

"Two choices lay before you." Raiden Shogun crossed her arms. "This is not something you can leave half-baked. You either, as you said, put an end to them... or you dedicate the time and effort it would take to turn them into your vassals permanently."

"What would you do?"

"Need you ask?" She questioned, tilting her head. "Given that I see them as more of a burden than an advantage, I would put them to the sword. Their barbaric culture makes them an unpredictable force that could betray you the moment you turn your back to something else. Imagine the trouble you'd have to go through travelling from King's Landing to the North just to put them down... and, even if you could gain their loyalty, how long would it take? How much effort and time would you exhaust for these people? What of your lords, especially those who deem this act akin to betrayal?"

"When Winter comes, I don't believe they'll be anything more than more mouths to feed..."

Strangely enough, the more she spoke against his previous decision, the more he felt like seeing it through.

"It's the easier path, for sure." Edric leaned against a wall and slipped down till he was sitting on the ground. He grabbed a handful of snow and watched it slip through his hand. "Killing those I have no care for is so simple. It's hardly any different from breathing."

"But..."

"But?"

He clenched his hand, and the snow moulded together.

"I once chose the discipline of the Inspiring Leader for good reason. I've come this far, and I won't change my mind because of a potential setback. I've practised my diplomacy and other such skills for this very reason." He raised himself up, dusting off the snow. "Rather than slay these fools who don't see the bigger picture, I'll enlighten them and instil peerless loyalty into those who'd otherwise rebel."

"I'm glad I could help you make up your mind." Raiden smiled dryly. "Even if it's the opposite of what I advised. Though... I shouldn't be too surprised. You are always so stubborn."

"You have my thanks." Edric chuckled. "You have the names of the men in that room, yes?"

"Mhm."

It seems I'll need to be more hands-on.

He thought to himself.