Barristan was both grateful and hesitant to be leaving Dragonstone behind. There were so many memories there, good and bad, so many things he would rather not confront. And then there was Jon Stark.
Barristan might not have seen the truth for what it was, if not for little Duncan Stark. But Barristan had been a Kingsguard for a long time. He had held Rhaegar and Viserys and Aegon when they were babes. He knew the look of the Targaryens better, he suspected, than anyone alive. Duncan was a Targaryen through and through. And once he knew that there was something to look for, had known to look more closely, he saw the distinctive features in Jon Stark's face as well, disguised only by his Stark colouring. Saw the echoes of Jaehaerys and Rhaella and Rhaegar as clear as day.
Seeing the young Lord sit out the tourney as the good Northman he must be had filled him, strangely, with just as much pride as seeing Rhaegar break lances against his opponents' shields, unhorsing them with his careful, powerful cunning, once had. Seeing Arthur with him, always half a step behind, always vigilant and full of the pride of a man who knew his place and knew he was doing his duty to the best of his ability, that filled Barristan with bitter regret and more shame and envy than he had known for years.
Had it been cowardly, to bend the knee at the Trident all those years ago? Aerys, Aegon and Rhaenys, Rhaella and Viserys, they had all still been alive. He had been wounded and near delirious, in no state to fight, rocked to his core at the memory of Rhaegar's death. Would it
have been better to let them kill him and be done with it? By the time he had been well again, the Targaryen dynasty had been well and truly broken. But there had been Targaryens left still. Had he dishonoured himself by not going to them?
Bitterness rose in his throat. Barristan did not take oaths lightly. But he had made several, and they may one day come to a head. Robert, Robert was a drunkard and a womaniser, and Joffrey was little better than a monster in human form. Barristan still remembered how the boy had cut open a kitchen cat because he was too impatient to wait for the kittens to be born of their own accord. Jon Stark, on the other hand, for all that Barristan had not had much of a chance to get to know him, had struck him as a better man than most. Not one of his forbearers come again, but his own man, the product of the blood of two royal lines and Arthur's hand in his upbringing, and somehow still more than that. Strong and gentle and clever. Of course, Barristan might just as well be wrong, and the boy might be as mad as his grandfather. Still, he doubted it. Most likely, there was more of Rickard Stark than Aerys Targaryen in him, and more yet that was just the boy himself.
Barristan did not know. He did not take his oaths lightly, and he had sworn his life twice. He hoped those oaths would not come into conflict. He did not know what he would do if they did.
Yet, he did not go to his king and tell him what he knew. He could not find it within himself to do so.
~-------------------------
Patreon Advance Chapters: patreon .com / hpdreamer