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Being Aerys by Xersin
 Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: T, English, Drama & Humor, Aerys T., Rhaella T., OC, Words: 167k+, Favs: 1k+, Follows: 1k+, Published: Jun 14, 2017 Updated: Sep 1, 2017282Chapter 15: 15
I had been here long enough to learn that after every battle, no matter how minor or major, there always came a time when men celebrated and bragged about the achievements that they had garnered on the day. They talked of the glory, of the honour that they had achieved today.
I wasn't one of those people.
I was just glad that I was still alive and not one of the many men that had been vanquished. Jesus, sometimes, when I closed my eyes, that javelin barely missing me made my heart stop. That was ridiculous and this was going to be a regular thing.
And the worst of it all? Some part of me had enjoyed it. The adrenaline rush that came from knowing that one minor mistake, an unlucky encounter with a decent swordsman would have been the end of me had given me a certain buzz.
Through it all, as terrified as I was, I still found some of the danger exhilarating.
Was that supposed to be normal?
Someone knocked on my tentpost and I looked up and saw Duncan standing by the entrance, holding the flap to one side, "I'm surprised I haven't seen you drinking with the men."
"I'm not in a particularly good drinking mood." I replied. I was still going to drink later on. There was a reason as to why everyone drank wine of some kind like it was going out of style in Westeros.
Drinking water was just unhealthy to drink and not worth the risk. Well, unless it was boiled and left to cool, but that would take far too long for my liking if I needed a drink in a quick pinch.
Duncan entered my tent and got himself a seat, "You did well out there. Ser Gwayne said much good about how you held yourself." There was a glimmer of concern in his eyes as well as that of pride as he spoke.
I grimaced slightly, "Oh yeah. I think I killed a couple." Or perhaps more? It was strange.
I suppose killing in the midst of a battle came to a 'me or him' personality, and the self-preservation instinct would always result in me choosing myself. After the act was done, I didn't think much of it, and just carried on as if nothing had happened.
After everything was done, when things had calmed down and when I have nothing better to do than torture myself by replaying all those times I nearly died because I apparently was a masochist like that, it would suddenly hit me that I had gone about and took another persons life.
Strangely enough, I had thought that it would affect me more than it should. I had seen people say that killing another human being was something that went against human nature and that soldiers to help over come that mental barrier were essentially taught to dehumanize their opponents or something along them lines.
Then again, considering how everyone in Westeros was some sort of psychopath, perhaps that barrier didn't exist.
It would explain quite a lot of things I suppose.
"How are you handling it?" Duncan asked with some concern in his voice, "I apologise, but we should have had this conversation the day that you made your first kill. It's just that there were so many things to do."
I shrugged, "I don't know, well? I guess. I mean, I was expecting for it to affect me in someway, but I seem to be handling it quite well. I have yet to dream the faces of all the people that I have killed ever since we came onto this blasted rock. Is that supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing?"
"Only you can answer that Aerys. As a lord, a prince and future king at that, killing, whether directly or indirectly will always be a part of who you are...but would you say that is all who you are?"
I scoffed, "No. I'm quite well aware that I'm no Terminator. I just happen to be sitting here because I was lucky enough to come across people who weren't all that better at me when it comes to fighting." I stopped for a moment and sighed, running a hand through my hair, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I suppose I have to thank you and Rodrik for giving me a hiding in the training yard all those times. I think that actually came to be helpful."
"It was a pleasure to be of service, dear nephew of mine." His face set into stone for a moment, "Have you seen Steffon?"
Steffon? Oh, I had completely forgot about him. Him and Tywin. We had each been separated the moment we had first made landfall. Tywin had gone with Ser Jason and the Lanniser hosts to make their way across the island from the northern coast, whilst Steffon had gone with his father Lord Ormund through the central route of the island. I had ended up with Duncan who was in command of the crownland and riverlander hosts on the southern coast.
I raised myself up from my seat slightly, "Why, what's wrong with him? He's not injured is he?" What I could remember about canon about the Ninepenny War wasn't all that knowledgeable, but at the very least, I liked to think that I would remember something of the likes of Steffon Baratheon being injured.
Or was that a minor detail that hadn't been given the dignity of being mention on his official wiki page?
Duncan blinked, "You haven't heard?"
"Heard what?" I asked, "I've been cooped up in this tent ever since we made camp. Ask Gwayne. I haven't even left this place for anything. I wanted to have a little time to myself to wangst without anyone seeing it."
Duncan just gave me a look before he shook his head, "Lord Ormund fell in battle."
It was now my turn to blink, "Uncle Ormund is dead?" I have no idea why it surprised me. I knew that it was going to happen during this war, and I had resigned myself to one of those things I couldn't stop I don't think, because really, I didn't even know when or how he would fall in battle. The Prince of Dragonflies could only nod, "Fuck." I muttered as I fell back into my seat.
Steffon must have been devasted. He loved his old man and his old man loved him back. Sure, he was a bit of a hard man, but it was easy enough to see that he cared for his son and his nephew in me. The man really valued his family.
The former Crown Prince sighed, "Rhaelle is going to be bereaved. Unlike us, she had married out of duty and eventually grown to love him and he, her."
"I should see Steffon." I said, rising from my seat.
Duncan held up a hand as he shook his head, "No. Leave him be for now. He requested that of me and the other lords."
"He needs someone with him. A friend. Family. Anything. He can't be alone right now."
"Some people deal with their grieve in different ways. Some prefer dealing it in the company of their friends and companions, others in their own solitude. Steffon it seems, is of the latter. Going to him now would more than likely just anger him."
I wanted to say something, but the damn bastard was making some sense. So I decided to change the subject, "Who killed Lord Ormund?" Sort of, "I mean, I've seen him in the training yards. The man takes on several knights at a time for practice. And he always wins at the end of it all."
Lord Ormund was a beast. I liked to think that in the capital, if it came down to a fight between, Ser Duncan the Tall, Lord Ormund, Prince Duncan and Ser Gerold, it would probably end with either all of them mutually killing each other or a pyrrhic victory with one of them being left alive to live another day but with unhealable injuries.
I think this was the first time that I have actually seen Duncan look actually angry about something as he gave me an answer for my question, "Daemon Blackfyre."
"Daemon Blackfyre?" I repeated tilting my head to the side to think. Was I missing something here? I was sure that Maelys was the only Blackfyre left alive, well the only known Blackfyre if Varys and Faegon revealed themselves. So who the hell was this Daemon character? "Never heard of him."
"He's the previous Captain-General of the Golden Company."
I rubbed at my forehead as I tried to recall much of my meta knowledge. The only Daemon I could recall was the original Blackfyre, wait a minute, didn't Maelys kill another Blackfyre for control of the Golden Company? It was sketchy, but I think that was how it went.
So this Daemon was that Daemon? Then why the hell was he still alive?
Gods, don't tell me this is one of the tsunami's that has been released by the butterflies that I released flapping around their wings is it? Still though, I don't see how such a butterfly could even cause something like the survival of this Daemon character.
I don't even think he is well within the range of my influence...or was this some sort of bullshit of the world trying to screw with me somehow? Or the work of some dickhead god for screwing things up for him/her/it somewhere down the line?
I shuddered, the thought didn't bring me any sort of happy imageries of my own welfare.
"So we have two Blackfyres to deal with."
Duncan nodded, "From what Ser Joffrey has told me, out of the two, Daemon is more of the thinker than his cousin." And the fact that he killed Lord Ormund must also say quite a bit about his martial prowess, "I wouldn't be surprised if he is the reason why they have the Unsullied."
I shuddered again as I thought of those ridiculous dickless sons of bitches. Stab em? They'll try to stab you back without the slightest register of the thing that was currently poking inside of them.
That was rather...eerie and not all that natural. Like anything about the Unsullied was unnatural.
"Do we know how many Unsullied they have?"
"Ser Joffrey is currently trying to find that out now. He has people in Astapor that he is reaching out to." Duncan sighed, "Hopefully, I would like it if Maelys and his ilk only brought a few of the Unsullied, perhaps a couple of centuries, a thousand even. More than that, then we have a problem."
"We beat them didn't we? Clearly they are not that tough."
From what I understood, the Westerosi knew of the Unsullied. There was enough stories about them that it would have to be one very isolated and ignorant lord not to know of them. But just like everything pertaining to Essosi, the general consensus was that the Unsullied weren't as tough as those wimps across the sea said they were.
After all, who could be afraid of dickless wonders? Jesus, I hated the Unsullied.
My horse could have very well crippled me when it gave out underneath me, and we all know how cripples are viewed in Westeros.
"Not at all that 'tough', I agree with that sentiment nephew. But we lost many a good knights thanks to them. Some were killed by their own horses or trampled by the riders behind them, others are crippled for life and have demanded be given the Stranger's mercy."
I winced. Yeah, I suppose we can't be having too much of that. Knights were a rather expensive and limited commodity on our side.
So where the Unsullied, so in a protacted battle, it would all boil down to who had the better strategy, the better tactics, and if not that, who would run out of their special units first, the Westerosi or the Nine with their fucking Unsullied.
And I just realised that we hadn't even come upon the Golden Company and their stupid elephants.
Those were going to be a completely different nightmare all on their own.
I rubbed at the bridge of my nose, "I really need a drink."
Duncan gave me a wane smile, "I think we will all be needing some sort of drinks in the future."
Then I realised something, with Lord Ormund dead, hope he rests in peace, that meant command went to Duncan. I'm not going to lie, I was genuinely quiet sad about the death of Lord Ormund, he was something of a reasonable cool uncle, but with Duncan in command, I really hoped that would mean that I won't be finding myself at the forefront of charges again.
I really didn't like that.
I could have honestly smiled despite everything, if it wasn't for the fact that I suddenly realised that in times like this, the officers lead from the front. In other words, I was still going to find myself charging into the fray no matter the situation, one way or another.
The world truly liked screwing with me.
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