Bronn prided himself on being scared of no man. Sure, he had a healthy respect for some, but fear was no in his vocabulary. No one could ever say that he was not confident in his own abilities. And given the fact that he had proved himself time and time again, not only on the field of battle but also in one on one combat, he believed that he had every right to class himself as one of the most feared warriors in the Seven Kingdoms.

But there was one thing that the sellsword feared. The sight of it on the battlefield always instilling in him a sense of dread, and this thing was simply known by all as the Dark Knight.

He had styled himself on the warrior, and like him, the Dark Knight was skilled with sword, knife, and bow. And Bronn had even seen the impressive warrior wield a staff as if the weapon was an extension of their own body. The dark figure's movements appearing as if they were performing a dance while the war raged around them.

Also like him, the Knight wore no armour, sporting instead the darkest, blackest leather, and carried no shield, relying on their agility and speed to dodge any attack that their opponent may use against them.

The only differences that Bronn could see between himself and the Dark Knight was that the black spectre wore a black and silver mask with symbols picked out in the precious metal, symbols that Bronn had been told were some kind of ancient spell that protected the Knight, and a large black hood that made it impossible for anyone to see the features of the warrior that was about to kill them.

Bronn could vividly remember the first time that he had seen the Dark Knight. He had been in camp with other sellswords, each one of them huddled around a fire, some getting drunk, others quietly contemplating what was to come as soon as the sun rose over the hill. All hoping that the battle they faced in the morning would not be their last.

Bronn had watched with curiosity as a silence fell over the camp, the battle hardened warriors suddenly standing respectfully and parting ways as the dark figure had passed amongst them. It had been his first battle, the young Bronn not knowing why everyone around him would be acting in such a fashion; but that was until he was dragged to his feet by the old man next to him.

"Get ya arse up boy. Show some fuckin respect. Most of us owe the Dark Knight our lives in one way or another. Now bow ya damn head." The older warrior had hissed disdainfully, as he pushed Bronn's head down.

Bronn couldn't help but cautiously look up as the Knight had passed, catching a glimpse of a pair of bright eyes as the warrior had walked by, making their way to the tent of the king.

Once the warrior had disappeared, the men had all returned to what they had been doing, that was all except for Bronn who had let his curiosity get the better of him, and was bombarding those around him with questions about what he had just seen.

He had learnt that the Dark Knight had existed for as long as anyone could remember, many men claiming that the Knight had saved their grandfathers and their grandfathers, grandfathers, while fighting by their sides. Others stating that battles had not gone ahead once an opposing force had found out that the Knight was to fight against them. But it was when Bronn had seen the Knight on the field the next day, that the young sellsword quickly learned that if anyone was to be feared, it was this warrior.

The figure had stormed in ahead of the others. The Knights roar even heard over the sounds of thousands of men and horses as they charged headlong into the fray. Despite the chaos, Bronn had found himself watching the Knight. Death seemed to come naturally to the warrior, the body count mounting as the creature moved effortlessly through the carnage of corpses and blood. He couldn't help but marvel at how effortless it all seemed, how easily the heads rolled, how the gods had made a perfect killing machine. And so caught up was he that Bronn had not noticed as an arrow had come speeding towards him, the projectile being stopped just before it had hit him by the hand of the Dark Knight that had somehow appeared before him in an instant.

"Be more careful, boy. That is how fools die." The warrior had growled, before grabbing hold of Bronn by the shoulder and pulling him back into the fray.

After that first meeting Bronn had fought by the Knight on a number of occasions but had not seen the warrior for many years. He had heard rumours that they had died in battle, other rumours saying that they had just disappeared, neither of which he had ever believed. And now, as he sat drinking with Tyrion, the information that the Dark Knight would be coming to Kings Landing still rattling around in his mind, he couldn't help but wonder what to expect.

"So, you are telling me that you know this Dark Knight?" Tyrion asked, looking over the lip of his glass, as the two men sat at a table in one of Littlefinger's brothels.

"Sorta. I fought with em a number a times. They saved my life once. I can truthfully say that I ain't seen anyone better on a battlefield." Bronn replied absentmindedly, as he stared off into space.

"My, my, such high praise. Even better than you? They must be good." Tyrion chuckled, the little man taking full advantage of an obviously distracted Bronn.

"Why has Joffrey called on the Knight anyway? I mean he already has Clegane, the Kingsguards, what does he need the Knight for?" Bronn asked, suddenly coming back from his thoughts.

"My nephew is a coward, Bronn. He believes that the more of these great and formidable warriors that he can call to his side, the safer he will be. He seems to forget that most of them would sell out their own mothers if offered the right price." Tyrion explained, as he refilled his glass. Bronn shrugging knowingly at the suggestion, sure that the youngest Lannister was quite right. And if he had been given the opportunity when he was younger, he would most certainly have sold his.

Bronn mussed for a moment. There was part of him that dreaded the thought of seeing the Knight again, knowing that their mere presence would bring back many memories that he had tried to forget. But there was another part of him that couldn't wait to meet the warrior that had saved his life, a warrior that he classed as a brother in arms.

                                                            >>------------------------------<<

Bronn, as well as seemingly everyone else in the Red Keep, had crowded into the throne room, all eagerly waiting to see the new guard that Joffrey had payed handsomely to be by his side. The sellsword noticing the looks on the faces of all the men that had known war. Each one seeming to be feeling the same sense of dread and intrigue that he was. And each probably owing the warrior their lives, just like he did.

Suddenly the doors to the throne room flew open. The bannermen at the ingress respectfully standing rigid as a figure dressed completely in black entered the room.

There was an aura that followed the Knight, the throne room filling with an air of mystery, power, and death, and Bronn as well as Sandor and Jaime found themselves bowing their heads as the warrior came to a stop just before the steps that led to the Iron Throne.

Joffrey looked down at the warrior. Even he couldn't fail to notice how every feared man present was showing more respect to the dark creature that stood before him, than they ever did to him. And he couldn't help but at once feel angered as well as fascination.

"So, you are the Dark Knight that even my Hound and my uncle seem to fear?" Joffrey asked, as he peered down at the Knight.

"It is not fear, Sire. It is respect. Every man here that bows their head to me does it out of respect. Respect for having fought by my side, respect for still having their lives. I have not only saved Ser Clegane, but also your uncle, as well as those of many others that stand here today, and such things deserve respect. Do you not think?" A husky voice asked from under the dark hood.

"I am not paying you to be respected, I am paying you to stand by my side and protect me." Joffrey scoffed, moving forward on his throne, not liking the tone of the Knight.

"I have stood by the side of many kings. Fought for many kings. Killed for many kings, and all have shown me the respect I deserve. Sooner or later, child, even you will know what it is to respect me." The Knight growled, irate that a child would speak to them in such a manner.

Joffrey was angry beyond belief. How dare this creature speak to him that way. He was king. He was the only one that should be shown respect.

Before Joffrey could demand that the Knight be taken away or killed, Jaime, Sandor, and Bronn stepped forward. Each man shielding the warrior with their forms.

"Sire. You must forgive the Knight. They are from a very different world than this. The battlefield is its own kingdom, and the Knight is its monarch. Therefore, those of us that have fought on that field feel as though we have two masters. Might I suggest that your new guard may be tired from their long journey, and that it would be better if you two met again when they have rested." Jaime interjected, hoping that Joffrey's anger could be appeased.

"Take it away. And bring this so called monarch of the battlefield back when they can show me the respect that I deserve." Joffrey hissed, the three men surrounding the warrior breathing a sigh of relief as Joffrey dismissed them.

"Have the Knight taken to the rooms. Make sure you stay with them." Jaime whispered to Bronn, knowing that it was better if he and Sandor stayed with Joffrey.

"If ya will." Bronn said quietly, signaling for the warrior to follow him. The two disappearing out of the throne room and down the long corridors of the Keep.