"You've never told me, Ser Brandon. You're a knight, but a northerner. Do you keep the Old Gods, or the new?" Maron casually conversed with his sworn brother as they strolled down the hallway. This generation of the Kingsguard (known as the Queensguard since Queen Daenerys took power) was a special lot. All of the great knights from the past fifty years were starting to die off. Sworn brothers who have seen the War of the Five Kings. The Dance of the Two Dragons. The Second Long Night. They were an extinct breed. Now, the best the realm could offer to this brotherhood were green boys. Tourney knights and the sons and nephews of little lordlings who know how to swing a sword at a bandit. They weren't King Robert's corrupt paper shield, though. If anything, they were a great shield of ironwood and steel in the making. Maron had faith in them. He was Lord Commander of the lot, a spot usually reserved for old men with a history of valor. Despite only seeing forty one namedays, Maron assured himself that he would be as good as any before. Brienne of Tarth, Barristan the Bold, the White Bull, Ser Duncan the Tall.
It was daybreak. The queen would be waking up around now and making her way to the Great Hall to sit on the big, ugly chair. She was an old woman now, at eight and sixty, but she was still wonderful. Maron and the rest of her brothers considered it an honor to be tasked with protecting such a beloved monarch. In her old age, they needed to work harder to ensure she was protected. Greedy eyes always looked to the old, thinking them weak and brittle. Maron insisted that three sworn brothers accompany her in her waking hours. Maron even offered to get someone to taste her food, a white brother if necessary, but she would have none of that. She was a good queen and perhaps too good of a woman. She accepted some of Maron's protective measures, though he always got the sense that she did that to appease him and not for the sake of her own life. In her younger years, dealing with the struggles in Slaver's Bay had taught her the ways of psychological warfare and where to place her trust. As she got older, though, she simply didn't care any longer. Some respected her for it, but some still licked their lips in ambition. Or so Oberyn said.
Ser Loran Crassius and Ser Brandon Stark would be accompanying him today. He kept the schedules swapped around to ensure that his brothers were ready for anything at any time of the day. Ser Meric Caron accompanied him yesterday, but he stood guard for the queen last night, standing outside her bedchambers. "Ser Meric." Maron called, his white cloak trailing behind his feet. "My lord." The young knight said, bowing. Maron waved his hand and dismissed him. "Go get some rest, Ser Meric. We'll take it from here." The knight nodded as Maron approached the chamber door. He knocked loudly three times. No response. Odd. The queen was usually up at this time. "Could still be sleeping, my lord. She didn't call in a handmaiden." Ser Meric said. Ser Maron frowned as he knocked again. "My queen?" He asked as he finished. Something wasn't right. The knocking was loud and Daenerys wasn't a heavy sleeper by any means. Her bed was close enough to the door that he should easily be heard.
Maron's heart sank as she didn't even reply to the third set of knocking. Out of instinct, he drew the longsword at his side. The loud, unmistakable cacophony of Valyrian Steel sliding out of it's scabbard. He held the menacing grey-red blade at his side as he pushed open the chamber door slowly. His three sworn brothers behind him, mimicking him with their own swords. "My queen?" He uttered one last time as he eyed the bed. There he saw her. She wasn't in a comfortable position of sleep. She was scattered about her bed haphazardly, as though she struggled with some dream demon. Her nightgown was ripped on one of the shoulder, revealing a little bit of her breast. Her glorious platinum hair flowed carelessly behind her head in an almost intentional fashion. However, the most disturbing part were her eyes. Her deep violet eyes were the most visible feature on her thin, wrinkled face. Those eyes were known for being so full of life. Like her hair, they stayed pretty even into old age.
Now, those exotic purple eyes were staring into Maron's own. Lifeless and cold.