The Targaryen Legacy

By the third man Ser Manfred Darke of the Kingsguard was fairly certain he had gathered all the information he was going to, but he interrogated and killed the rest of them anyway.

Five men had been captured in the murder of Elia Martell and the attempted murders of Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen. Five of them had been wounded by Ser Manfred and Ser Arthur Dayne, yielding once they'd been bled, and the sixth had surrendered when he realized he was suddenly all alone with two infuriated knights of the Kingsguard.

It was determined that ten men had infiltrated the Red Keep dressed as Targaryen guardsmen, stealing their way to the Black Cells to free Lord Tywin Lannister and his son Jaime. Eight had been sent to kill the new King of the Iron Throne and his sister, the last two preceding on with the Lannister patriarch and his apparently very-much whole son. Those eight had been expecting one Kingsguard knight, and with eight to one odds they had an advantage over even a white cloak. What they'd gotten, however, was two Kingsguard knights, and if it weren't for Manfred and Dayne both deciding they needed as many alive as possible, the murderers would have to a man died outside the nursery.

The fight had been brutal, quick and entirely one-sided, but by the time the eight had been subdued and Elia Martell's body found the remaining Westlanders were gone.

Dayne had been inconsolable. While Manfred didn't care for the pompous, flowery cunt, he wished the man had been brought low by something other than the death of sweet Elia. He'd bloody liked the Dornishwoman, and Manfred as a rule hated everyone. When he'd found her body curled in on itself in one of the first level gallery's, her thin form in a pool of her own blood, he'd never felt such failure or pain in his life.

He could only imagine what the Prince would do when he arrived.

Lord Buckwell had taken over regent duties again, seamlessly to the citizens of King's Landing. They'd kept both the death of the King and Queen quiet so far, though rumors of the former's death had been circulating for days. Manfred had led a detail of guards after the Lannisters, but the two men had disappeared without a trace. He'd scoured the countryside for miles around, Varys and his little birds or whatever the hell they were called searching just as ardently, but all he had gotten out of it was an even worse disposition than normal when he finally returned to King's Landing.

Arthur Dayne hadn't gotten anywhere with the prisoners, but even when interrogating a murderer the knight was held back by notions of honor and kindness. Manfred had no such inhibitions, and combined with his foul mood he had gotten answers quickly.

Those answers had led him here, to the maester's tower.

Manfred didn't give enough fucks to keep this quiet. He flung the door open, storming into Grandmaester Pycelle's chambers, Donnel Buckwell and his mustache close behind him. The King and Princess were with Renfred Ryker's new widow and Ashara Dayne, locked in her chambers surrounded by ten guardsmen Manfred knew were loyal- trusted was too strong a word, because fuck everyone-and Arthur Dayne, all on high alert.

Five other guardsmen spread out, Manfred caring not a whit for what he smashed as he bulled through the maester's chambers, throwing open additional doors and pulling up his mattress, searching everywhere for the aging man. With a bellowed curse he threw the mattress aside. "Find him! Find him now!"

A crash sounded overhead, and Lord Buckwell instantly started moving. "The rookery, Manfred!" The knight of the Kingsguard was short with short legs, but he overtook the taller, middle-aged regent before the Lord of Antlers could even reach the stairs. More sounds came from upstairs as he ascended two steps at a time, the squawk of ravens that Manfred found so bloody annoying accompanied by another crash. When the knight of the Kingsguard came to the rookery door he found it unsurprisingly barred from the inside, meant to buy Pycelle more time.

In most cases it probably would, but Manfred was too pissed to let a measly barred door stop him. He lowered his boulder-like shoulder and charged, splintering the wood as he burst into the rookery room, door hinges squeaking and ravens squawking. Pycelle, dressed in the robe and chain of the Citadel, grey beard long and actions panicked, shuffled towards the release window of the rookery, a large raven on his arm, its legs strapped with a rolled parchment.

Ser Manfred Darke let out a roar as he charged forward, drawing his sword from its sheath as the maester reached the window, Pycelle letting a panicked shout escape his lips. The treacherous teacher stuck his arm out of the opening, the great black bird perched there opening its wings to take flight.

Manfred Darke had never hit truer in his extensive life of swordplay. His blade darted out of the window, his massive form shoving Pycelle's infirm one out of the way, bringing his blade down as hard as his bulging arm could. His blade cleaved completely through the raven's left wing and part of its head, killing the bird instantly, sending its carcass and whatever message it bore spiraling down towards the courtyard.

Manfred didn't watch its body long, propelling his sword arm backwards to smash an elbow into the Grandmaester of the Citadel's nose, Pycelle shouting out in pain as bone and cartilage was crushed, the blow knocking him backwards to the ground. With a curse of rage the knight of the Kingsguard hurled his sword aside, intending to break this traitor one bone at a time. Pycelle tried to scoot backwards, moving much quicker than the maester normally did, one hand on his ruined nose. Manfred grabbed him by his robe, pulling the whimpering old man up with one arm as the big knight drew his right fist back.

"Manfred, stop!" Buckwell shouted as he ran into the room, chest heaving, causing the ugly knight to hesitate. While he by no means liked Buckwell, Manfred didn't quite hate him either, and the dealings they had had in years past as Aelor's bannerman and sworn sword respectively had fostered some level of respect in the knight for the competent, calm Lord of the Antlers.

"Why the fuck should I?" Manfred shot back, barely able to keep from tearing the whimpering, pathetic traitor in his grasp into multiple chunks of dead turncoat.

"Because we need to know what else he has done, and even you can't get answers from a dead man," Buckwell reasoned, ignoring Pycelle as he tried to caution Manfred.

"I'll just break a few bones."

"He's older than even me, Manfred. The shock that comes with broken bones might kill him." Donnel Buckwell maintained eye contact. "Prince Aelor is mere days away from the city. He'll want more than a few words with this piece of shit as well, wouldn't you say?"

Manfred cursed inwardly as Buckwell played the only card he knew for certain would work. It still took everything the newest knight of the Kingsguard had to stop from breaking the Grandmaester's bones one by one, but Manfred finally dropped the whimpering man to the ground. "We'll take him to a cell, somewhere nice enough to keep the fucker alive." Guardsmen filtered around Lord Buckwell to do as they were ordered, lifting the crying traitor up by his arms.

Manfred glared at him as they started to drag him away, following closely behind. "And someone get that damn raven's body. We need to see what else this piece of shit has done beside help kill the Queen."