Rewriting Targaryen History

Chapter 110: Chapter 110: A New White Cloak

The seventh place in the Kingsguard remained empty for three days.

That was long enough for half the court to pretend it had suggestions and the other half to pretend those suggestions were not gifts wrapped in white wool. Knights arrived at the Red Keep with polished armour and family names held in front of them like shields. Fathers wrote letters. Uncles found reasons to mention old service. Courtiers spoke of honour in the same voices they used to discuss marriage contracts.

The white cloak was supposed to make a man belong only to the king. In practice, everyone wanted to know who he had belonged to before.

Ser Lorent Marbrand handled his first days as Lord Commander with quiet discipline. He did not stride through the Red Keep as if the title had changed the weight of his boots. He reviewed watches, spoke with each sworn brother, inspected the armoury, and requested a written record of all guard rotations from the last year. That last request caused more discomfort than any speech could have done.

I approved. Otto did not say so, but I doubted he enjoyed a Lord Commander who believed records were part of honour.

The question of the final cloak came before the Small Council on the fourth morning.

Viserys sat at the head of the table, wrapped warmly despite the weather. Rhaenyra sat to his right. Alicent sat near him, hands folded, composed enough that only those who knew her well could see the tension beneath the stillness.

Otto stood behind his chair before sitting, as he often did, making the room wait a heartbeat for him. Larys Strong had taken to his new seat with the soft patience of a man who enjoyed listening more than speaking. Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde, and Grand Maester Orwyle completed the arrangement.

Ser Lorent stood near the wall, present because the matter concerned his order. I stood beside Rhaenyra’s chair, not seated, which was technically proper and increasingly meaningless.

Jace had been summoned as well. That, I knew, was not an accident.

My eldest son stood between Rhaenyra and me, dressed carefully in black and red. He had tried to look calm since entering the room. He succeeded better than most boys of his age would have done, but I noticed the stiffness in his shoulders and the way his fingers rested too evenly at his sides.

Jace had learned composure. He had not yet learned how to make it comfortable.

Viserys looked around the table. "The Kingsguard lacks one sworn brother. Ser Gerold’s retirement and Ser Lorent’s elevation have left us with a final place to fill."

Otto inclined his head. "Your Grace, several names have already been placed forward. I would be pleased to provide the council with a list of suitable candidates."

"I am sure you would," Viserys said.

The reply was mild, but Otto paused at it.

Viserys turned toward Jace. "I want Jacaerys to choose."

The room changed. Not loudly. No one leapt up. No one slammed a hand on the table. But the air shifted, and every man present understood that the king had not merely given a boy a task. He had placed Jace’s future in the centre of the council chamber and required everyone to look at it.

Jace’s eyes widened by the smallest measure. Rhaenyra did not move, but pride touched her face before caution covered it.

Otto recovered first. "Your Grace, Prince Jacaerys is dutiful and promising, but this is a serious appointment. The Kingsguard does not exist for instruction."

"No," Viserys said. "It exists to guard the royal family. Jacaerys is Rhaenyra’s heir. One day, he may depend on these men more than anyone in this room. It seems sensible that he begin learning what trust costs."

Alicent’s gaze moved to Jace, then to her own hands. "The boy is young."

"He is," Rhaenyra said. "That is why this should be guided, not denied."

Otto turned to her with practised calm. "Princess, no one denies that Prince Jacaerys should learn. The question is whether a white cloak should become a lesson."

Rhaenyra’s chin lifted slightly. "When I was young, Father trusted me to choose a knight of the Kingsguard. I chose Ser Criston Cole because he had known real battle as well as tourney fields. His reputation was not built only on ornament and applause. If such judgement could be placed in me before I ever wore a crown, then my son should be allowed to begin learning the same burden now."

Criston’s name did exactly what she intended. It made the Greens uncomfortable for reasons they could not safely explain. Otto could not dismiss Rhaenyra’s old choice without insulting a man deeply tied to Alicent’s faction. Alicent’s expression tightened, but she did not answer. Larys looked down at his cup as if it contained something interesting. It did not.

Tyland cleared his throat. "The precedent exists, but Princess Rhaenyra was older than Prince Jacaerys when she made that choice."

"Then let him make the choice with counsel," Rhaenyra replied. "That is how heirs are taught. Not by waiting until crowns are placed on their heads and expecting wisdom to appear beneath the metal."

Viserys nodded slowly. "Just so."

Otto looked toward me. "And I assume Prince Othorion supports this arrangement."

"I do."

"That is unsurprising."

"Most reasonable positions are less surprising once explained."

Rhaenyra glanced at me in warning. I obeyed it, mostly.

Otto’s voice remained smooth. "Then perhaps the prince already has a candidate in mind."

"No," I said. "Jacaerys does."

That drew every eye to my son. Jace went still. For one heartbeat, I regretted letting the room turn toward him so quickly. Then he drew a careful breath, the way Arryk had taught him before a sword exchange, and looked at Viserys.

"I would like to send a raven to Blackhaven," he said.

Viserys leaned forward slightly. "Blackhaven?"

"Yes, Your Grace. I would ask Ser Arlan Dondarrion if he would accept the white cloak."

A murmur moved around the table.

The name was not unknown, though it was not the one Otto’s supporters had expected. Ser Arlan Dondarrion was not some ornamental court knight hoping to trade tourney applause for white wool. He was a Marcher, a man of Blackhaven, and the kind of swordsman whose reputation had been shaped in dust, raids, border fighting, and long watches where Dornish steel came suddenly from the wrong shadow.

Viserys looked to me. "You know this man."

"I do, Your Grace."

Otto’s eyes sharpened. "How convenient."

I met his gaze. "It is usually convenient when a candidate’s qualities are known to the people discussing him."

Jasper Wylde snorted once before disguising it as a cough.

I continued before Otto could take offence and call it principle. "Ser Arlan served with me during the campaigns in the Dornish Marches. I saw him under real pressure, not only in a yard, not only beneath banners, and not only when lords were watching. He held formation during an ambush along the Red Pass Road. He helped me defeat Qoren Sand. He also played a role during my second contract in the Dornish Marches."

Jace listened closely, though he knew most of this already. We had spoken of Arlan the night before, not as a decision handed to him, but as a name worth weighing.

Rhaenyra’s voice joined mine. "He is also not a creature of this court."

Otto looked at her. "That may be a weakness."

"It may be a strength," she said. "We have enough men here who know how to hear whispers before they remember vows."

Larys smiled faintly at that, which made me dislike him more.

Alicent spoke then, cautious but not dismissive. "A knight from the Dornish Marches would be hardened, certainly. But would he understand service in the Red Keep? Guarding a royal family requires more than border experience."

Ser Lorent answered before I did. "Your Grace, Your Grace," he said, giving respect first to Viserys and then Alicent, "a man can be taught the passages of the Red Keep. He cannot be quickly taught steadiness if he does not already possess it."

Viserys looked pleased by that. Otto did not.

Jace turned slightly toward Lorent. "That is why I thought of him, Lord Commander."

Lorent’s face softened by the smallest degree. "Then Your Highness has begun from the right question."

Jace blinked. He was not used to being addressed in the shape of his future.

Otto was not done. "The prince’s thoughtfulness does him credit, but the Kingsguard is not only personal guard to one boy, however promising. Ser Arlan would be required to defend the king, the queen, Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Aegon, Prince Aemond, and every member of the royal house. We should be certain his loyalty would not lie first with those who recommended him."

There was the accusation, polished and placed carefully. Jace looked at me. Only once. Not for rescue. For measure. Good. I gave him nothing more than a small nod.

He turned back to Otto. "If I only wanted someone loyal to my father, Lord Hand, I would have chosen one of his own men. Ser Jasper would have been my choice if I wanted familiarity."

The room quieted again.

Jace continued, voice steadying as he spoke. "I did not. I chose a knight of Westeros, from a respected house, who has fought beside my father and whose conduct can be judged by men who survived with him. I do not need a friend in a white cloak. I need a man I can trust not to panic, flatter, or obey cruelty because the room has become loud."

Rhaenyra’s face changed. So did mine, though I hoped less visibly. That last lesson had reached him.

Otto studied Jace with a new caution. "Those are large words for a young prince."

"They are not large if they are true," Jace replied.

Viserys smiled. Not broadly. Not foolishly. Proudly. "That is well said," the king murmured.

Grand Maester Orwyle adjusted his sleeve. "There is the practical matter of whether Ser Arlan would accept. The white cloak is honour, but it is also surrender of lands, marriage, and inheritance."

"Then the raven should ask, not command," Jace said. "If he refuses, he refuses honestly. That would also tell us something about him."

Ser Lorent inclined his head. "A man who understands what he gives up is more likely to honour what remains."

Otto’s supporters had less ground than they wanted.

Tyland could not object too strongly to a Westerosi knight of proven repute. Jasper Wylde liked Marcher men too much to dismiss one without cause. Orwyle had already retreated into process. Larys remained unreadable, though I suspected he enjoyed watching Jace reveal himself as something more troublesome than a boy to be whispered around.

Alicent watched Jace in silence.

Perhaps she saw Rhaenyra in him then. Perhaps she saw the future her father wanted to prevent. Perhaps she saw only another child being given weight too early. With Alicent, it was often all three at once.

Otto tried one last time. "Your Grace, if the raven is sent and Ser Arlan accepts, the decision will appear to have been made outside the council’s proper deliberation."

Viserys sighed softly. "We are deliberating now."

"We are discussing one name."

"A good name," Viserys said. "Put forward by my grandson, supported by my daughter, endorsed by a Lord Commander newly charged with restoring trust in the Kingsguard, and confirmed by a man who served beside him in war. That seems more deliberation than most appointments receive."

That was more backbone than I had expected from him before noon. Rhaenyra noticed too.

Otto bowed his head. "As Your Grace wishes."

Viserys turned to Jace. "Send your raven."

Jace’s composure nearly cracked, but he held it. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"Do not thank me too quickly," Viserys said. "Choosing men is rarely the difficult part. Living with the choice is where rule begins."

Jace absorbed that as if it had been carved in the table before him.

The council moved on after that, though not with much attention. A trade dispute from Gulltown received words from Tyland. Orwyle reported on stores of medicinal herbs. Larys mentioned an increase in dockside rumours after Dravvaxx’s arrival, which he phrased as a matter of public mood rather than his own growing influence. Otto listened, spoke when useful, and let no trace of frustration reach his voice.

That was what made him dangerous. Men who exploded were easy to measure. Otto stored injury for later.

When the council ended, Jace remained quiet until we left the chamber. Rhaenyra walked on his other side, letting him have the silence. We reached a smaller gallery overlooking the inner yard before he finally spoke.

"Did I choose well?"

Rhaenyra looked at me, giving me the first answer. "You chose thoughtfully," I said.

"That is not the same thing."

"No. It is the first part of choosing well."

Jace frowned toward the yard below, where guards moved between posts. "Lord Hightower thinks I chose him because of you."

"Lord Hightower thinks many things in whatever order best serves his argument."

"That does not mean he is always wrong."

"No. It does not."

Rhaenyra rested a hand lightly on Jace’s shoulder. "You did not choose Ser Arlan because your father told you to."

"No," Jace said. "But I would not know him without Father."

"Knowing a man through trusted witness is part of rule," I said. "You will never see every battle, every harvest, every dispute, or every act of loyalty yourself. You must learn whose judgement can carry weight when your own eyes were not present."

He considered that. "You trust Ser Arlan."

"I trust what I saw of him."

"That is different?"

"Yes. Men change, and no man should be trusted so completely that he never needs to prove himself again. But what I saw in the Marches was good. He did not chase glory when the line needed steadiness. He did not mistake noise for courage. He listened before acting, and when he acted, men followed because he had given them reason to."

Jace nodded slowly. "That sounds like Ser Arryk."

"In some ways."

"I thought of Ser Arryk first," he admitted.

"I know."

Rhaenyra’s eyes softened.

Jace looked down at his hands. "But Ser Arryk already serves. Choosing him would not fill the place. Ser Arlan seemed... possible."

"It was a kingly thought," Rhaenyra said.

He glanced at her, uncertain whether to accept such praise.

She continued before he could retreat from it. "Not because it was perfect. Because it looked beyond what was easiest."

That helped him more than grand certainty would have done. We went to the rookery together. That was Jace’s request.

The maester on duty looked startled to find the heir’s heir arriving with both parents, but recovered quickly. Parchment, ink, and a raven were prepared. Jace sat at the small writing table beneath the narrow window, where wind carried the smell of feathers, old straw, and city smoke.

He dipped the quill. Then stopped.

"What should I say?"

"Begin with respect," Rhaenyra said. "Then state the honour being offered."

"And the cost," I added. Jace looked at me. "A white cloak takes a man from his house," I said. "Do not hide that beneath pretty words. If Ser Arlan accepts, he should accept knowing you understand what you ask."

Jace bent over the parchment.

He wrote slowly, carefully, with the concentration of a boy aware that the letter was not merely practice. Twice he paused to choose a better phrase. Once Rhaenyra corrected a formal address. Once I stopped him from writing too much praise.

"Too much?" he asked.

"Too much praise sounds like persuasion. You are offering honour, not begging for rescue."

He scratched out the line with a grimace. At last, the letter was finished.

To Ser Arlan Dondarrion of Blackhaven,

By the will of King Viserys and with the counsel of Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Othorion, and Lord Commander Ser Lorent Marbrand, I write to ask whether you would accept consideration for the final place in the Kingsguard.

My father served with you during the campaigns in the Dornish Marches and speaks highly of your steadiness, skill, and judgement under danger. I do not ask lightly, as the white cloak requires a knight to set aside lands, inheritance, marriage, and the ordinary comforts of his house. If you would accept such a burden, the Crown would receive your answer with honour.

Prince Jacaerys Targaryen

"Send it," he said.

The maester tied the parchment. The raven protested, as ravens tended to do when made part of history without consultation. Then it was carried to the window and released.

We watched it rise above the Red Keep, black wings beating against the pale afternoon.

For a while, none of us spoke. Then Jace said, "What if he refuses?"

"Then you will have asked honourably," Rhaenyra said.

"And we will choose again," I added.

He nodded, though disappointment had already prepared a place in him for that possibility. I looked at the sky after the raven vanished. Somewhere below the city’s hills, Otto had Larys on the council now, listening from corners and turning whispers into weapons. That move had been quiet, careful, and dangerous.

Today, Jace had answered in a different language. Not with spies. Not with a dragon. Not with threats. With judgement.

If Ser Arlan accepted, the final white cloak would belong to a man tested in the Dornish Marches, chosen by the boy Otto wished the realm to doubt, and placed under a Lord Commander Otto had failed to prevent.

It was only one raven. Only one name. Only one empty place being filled. But politics was often made of such things: small decisions that later men pretended had always been inevitable.

Jace watched the empty sky a moment longer, then straightened.

He looked older than he had that morning. Not by much, but enough to notice.