Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and works; all other characters and worlds belong to their respective owners. I'm just playing with them.
Betad by Malcolm Tent, Marethyu, Priapus, Mike God of Lore
The Unbound
Chapter 17: The Knights of the Seven
— King Orys Baratheon —
I can't deny that while I am enjoying the Grand Tournament, I also will be relieved in some ways when it finally ends. I am expected to make an appearance so my subjects can approach their new king, but it takes up so much of my time. All that is left is the Joust and the last of the Single Duels, and then I will have a moment of peace before the seven-day long wedding begins.
I've got so much to do, but appearances are a must, especially in times of strife. Seeing their new King being calm and composed paints an image of a man in control of the situation. Stability is essential to maintaining a good, long rule. I can't seem panicked or like I am not in control of the Greyjoy Rebellion and the Boltons' treachery.
"I must say, Lady Brienne has truly surpassed people's expectations for her," the High Septon says, watching the final duel as my guest of honour. I'd prefer Margaery's company, but making a show of my good relations with the Faith is equally important. Margaery is with her family today. She wanted to speak with Garlan about his new position anyway.
"Indeed. Though, honesty forces me to admit that she's also had luck on her side. With Uncle Jaime, Prince Oberyn and Sandor Clegane not taking part, and Loras losing because he underestimated her resolve, she's avoided facing any of the best fighters the Seven Kingdoms have to offer," I agree.
Right now, she's fighting Lord Beric Dondarrion. Both are skilled, and they're probing one another's defences. So far, it could go to anyone.
"A female fighter, defeating some of the best knights of the Seven Kingdoms?" the High Septon murmurs, rubbing his chin. The Faith traditionally frowns on female warriors, but this could be awkward.
Knighting Brienne is a bold move, but if I leave her just a random woman who joined up and beat so many knights, it's more insulting.
"A strange situation, but we've certainly had strangeness in increasing numbers of late," I reply softly. "I understand that the rumours from the North have caused quite the stir amongst the Faithful?"
"Indeed, your Grace," the High Septon says quickly, turning his attention to me. I already know what he wants, but I continue before he can.
"I can only imagine. The rumours of skinchangers, shifting from man to wolf or bear, and these dreadful stories about Bolton warriors with the strength of a hundred men are looking increasingly true. No matter what the Maesters have claimed, it appears magic is truly returning to Westeros once more," I continue smoothly. "I understand that there have even been suggestions to reform the Faith Militant once more amongst the Most Devout."
He freezes, going silent as he looks to me to judge my opinion. Instead, he finds me watching the fight again. Both are skilled, and trying to tire out their opponent. One wrong step would mean defeat, and tiredness will only make them more likely to slip up.
"There have been… suggestions from some of the more zealous septons, yes," the High Septon admits, well aware that he's walking a fine line. "Nothing has been done, of course. It was by royal decree that they were outlawed, and King Maegor's word remains law to this day."
"Mhm," I say, seeming distracted. "True, the Faith Militant uprising placed a wound on the bond between crown and the Faith that has never truly healed. They were not entirely wrong to rise up after the slights King Aenys dealt the Faith. Aenys' weak rule led half the Realm to rise up against him, not just the Faithful. His successor, Maegor did not earn the epitaph ' the Cruel' for his negotiation skills, but even still. The Faith Militant is a name that carries much bad blood, even so many years later."
Grandfather insisted I know the full history of the Iron Throne and every royal backside that has ever sat upon it. It was eye-opening to realise that so many of my predecessors were… unworthy.
If it weren't for their dragons, the Targaryen rule would have ended with Aenys, the second Targaryen to sit upon the Iron Throne. Aegon may have been a Conqueror, but the son who followed him was weak and ill-suited to rule.
"The Lords of Westeros have quite long memories, Your Grace," the High Septon agrees, stifling his disappointment. Mother is right. He's not a very good politician. He's far too easy to read. "King Jaehaerys was wise to seek to settle the bad blood that remained from Maegor's brutal hunt of the Faithful."
"It seems my realm is one where bad blood can be found in every land. I intend to see much of it resolved before I'm called to the side of the Gods. I'll not leave the realms such a mess for my eventual heir," I say softly. "I will not undo Maegor's commandment and allow the restoration of the Faith Militant. Too much bad blood remains for the Warrior's Sons and the Poor Fellows to be permitted once more. Even the most devout Lords would be nervous at the Faith being given such military power once more."
"Likely a wise choice, given the uncertain days we find ourselves in," the High Septon agrees, hiding his disappointment.
"And yet, I do find the growing rumours unsettling. The Old Gods have made their move, it seems, taking names and champions," I continue softly, so quiet that he has to almost strain his ears to hear me. "I believe that this… Hircine has no maliciousness aimed at the realm or the Faith, but my dreams have been dark of late, dreams of pale skin and fanged teeth."
"Similar to your dreams of Valyrian Steel, your Grace?" the High Septon asks, just as quietly.
"Yes. I don't know why I was chosen for these visions, but I truly believe that whichever heathen god is behind the Bolton's sudden power seeks the downfall of us all," I admit. Molag Bal, the King of Rape. Mephala is displeased by his unsubtle attempt, and Hircine is less than pleased to have his hunt interfered with. Or maybe he's excited to hunt these 'vampires'? I cannot truly tell. Nocturnal doesn't care. Her ravens are my eyes and ears, but she cares little for what happens in the North though she has no love for Hircine or Molag Bal.
"I had hoped the rumours were just that," the High Septon admits after a moment. "But if the Gods speak to you through your dreams, you would do well to listen."
Orys the Blessed. That's what they're starting to call me. There are bards singing tales of my growing legend, and I am certain that my mother has had a hand in the explosive growth of my renown.
"As had I, but deep in my heart, I know it to be true," I admit quietly. Divine insights are as good an excuse as any other, I suppose. "Tell me, High Septon. How would the Most Devout respond to a new chivalric order under the joint control of the Faith and the Crown? Not a true army, but a small group of elite knights, not unlike my Kingsguard, tasked with investigating and potentially dealing with heretical threats?"
His earlier disappointment vanishes as I pull his ambition from the depths I just tossed it into, crushing his hope only to reignite it.
"I believe they'd be most approving. It would be a most enlightened choice, Your Grace. Too small to threaten the Lords of the Realm, but allowing us to ensure that if such threats are on the rise, the combined power of the Faithful and the Crown stands against them," the High Septon agrees rapidly, head bobbling. "Yes, I cannot see any of the Most Devout opposing such an Order."
And I'm sure he'll claim to have 'guided' me to this decision to reinforce his position as High Septon. Where he will remain useful to me.
My attention is distracted by a cheer, watching as Brienne of Tarth lands the final blow on a tiring Lord Beric, knocking him to the ground. He is graceful in defeat, and I can see that Brienne is panting and drained. It really could have gone either way. I don't think either would have made it to the finals had the best knights and warriors taken part, but such are the whims of fate, I suppose.
"Do you have any objections to me knighting her?" I ask, my voice nearly a whisper. The High Septon hesitates for but a moment, before he shakes his head.
"The Faithful will follow your lead on this, Your Grace," he agrees nobly. He's worried that refusing could set things back when he's got a potential chivalric order dangling in front of him.
As I rise, I give him a small smile and make my way into the ring. Both Brienne and Beric kneel as I approach, heads bowed. I can't have the Grand Tourney, the biggest recorded in history, be won by some nearly-unknown heiress. I can already see the crying of the knights. No, it's going to cause less trouble if she's knighted, as then it was just a knight who was the ultimate victor.
"Bravo, warriors, both those before me and all those who fought bravely this day. The crowd have truly gotten their fill of excitement for today, a spectacle to be remembered," I start, my voice projecting across the tourney grounds as the crowd begins to quiet. "Lord Beric, your skill and valour were clear for all to see, but it seems the Seven have chosen another to rise this day. Lady Brienne of Tarth, you have done your House and Kingdom proud. The Stormlands have historically produced powerful women, as shown by Lady Ellyn Caron, the Lady of Nightsong when she rode out to fight the Vulture King, besting a force twice their size and ending the Outlaw 'King's' so-called reign."
Thank you, endless history lessons. And thank you, Mephala, who has sharpened my memory enough for me to remember every minor detail that I've been forced to absorb.
"Today, before the gathered Lords and Ladies of Westeros, you have proven yourself no less capable, and for such prowess, there is only one correct response," I continue, knowing that I have the crowd hanging on my every word as I draw my sword. "Brienne of Tarth, do you swear before the eyes of the Gods and the realm to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect those who lack the strength to fight against cruelty and oppression?"
"I do, your Grace," Brienne manages to say, her words trembling.
"Do you swear to obey your liege lord, and your king? To fight with valour, and lay down your life in the pursuit of chivalry, should it become needed?" I continue, as a very different conversation goes on inside my head.
Mephala scowls a little as I reach out to the next newcomer, but doesn't oppose things. New lines are being drawn, Daedra and Aedra standing side by side to protect this world from those who would see it conquered and subjugated. Molag may be the first to act openly, but he will not be the last. One day, perhaps soon, other deities will find this world, those from another world than their home. For that, even old enemies will tolerate one another.
Placing my blade on her right shoulder, I smile softly.
"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave," I start. "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be Just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and the innocent."
The moment I start speaking of the mother, a golden glow falls upon us to the gasps and awe of the crowd. Even those who were frowning the hardest can only stare in awe as the Mother's warmth fills the tourney grounds. It feels like a gentle embrace, a sense of comfort falling over me as I continue, ignoring the words of desperate prayer.
"In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect your fellow women. In the name of the Crone, I charge you to be a guiding light for those lost. In the name of the Smith, I charge you to be diligent and never falter," I say, seemingly entirely unsurprised by the golden glow that has engulfed us. "I will hold you to these vows, until the day we meet the Stranger. Arise, Ser Brienne of Tarth, Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. Arise, Knight of the Mother."
Mara sends me a feeling of warmth as I end the vows, and the light fades softly. Brienne is slow to rise, but she can be forgiven because nobody seems to know what in the Seven Hells to do as she stands, tears in her eyes and a dumbstruck expression on her face.
"Thank you, Your Grace. I will not make you regret this," Brienne swears, and I know I've gained a supporter for life. I simply nod to her, regal and commanding as I gesture for Beric to rise as well.
I pause, seeing their minor wounds, before I look down at my hands. Mara whispers in my ear, her presence embracing me as I hold out my hand toward them, a golden glow leaving my palm and embracing them both, scratches and bruises fading away before the awed crowd.
Well, I wanted to make people believe I was loved by the Seven. Given the fervent praying of so many of the crowd, including my soon-to-be goodmother, I'd say I've achieved that.
As the crown erupts, I stare at my own hands in awe for a moment, before composing myself and declaring Ser Brienne of Tarth as the victor. Nobody dares to boo or jeer, the applause deafening as I return to my box and retake my seat.
The High Septon is speechless, staring at me with awe. He goes to speak, his words failing him several times over.
"I know what needs to be done, High Septon. Brienne will be the Knight of the Mother. The first of the Knights of the Seven. Find knights you and the Most Devout believe to be truly worthy of such a blessing, and bring them before me," I command, getting an instantaneous agreement from him. "They will be our shield against the malicious forces beginning to move."
Molag has made his move, but I will not tolerate his stain upon my realms. Hircine's blessed and the Knights of the Seven will see to that.
— Margaery Tyrell —
She had always known that her mother was a fervent follower of the Seven. She'd been lectured on the history of the House Hightower and their significance when it came to the Faith of the Seven countless times.
She hadn't realised just how devout her mother was until she'd fallen to her knees in desperate prayer during Orys' latest shock to the world. Orys the Blessed. Orys the Smith. Orys the Healer.
Her betrothed was building his legend with every step. As she reached the room she'd been summoned to, she smiled as she spotted him almost slumped in his seat. He straightened up at the sight of her, a beaming smile on his face, but she could read the tiredness in his expression.
The Houses just saw, with their own eyes, Orys being blessed by the Mother herself. The Smith gave him the knowledge to craft masterworks and forge Valyrian Steel. The Mother gave him a touch that could heal wounds in seconds. She knew that many, even those with no injuries at all, wished to just touch the Blessed King's hands.
Orys rose, breaking etiquette as he approached her. Those same hands came to her chin as he stroked it, planting a soft kiss on her lips. She deepened it almost immediately, but Orys simply pulled back with a playfully scolding expression. She returned it with impish grace.
"I missed your company. The High Septon is a skilled orator, but his presence couldn't make up for your absence," Orys admitted, stroking her hair.
"I was watching you more than the fights," Margaery admitted, kissing him again. She liked Ser Barristan, especially the way he was examining the very fascinating walls and ceiling architecture with a tiny, amused smile on his lips. Loras was also noticeably fascinated with the floor tiles.
"Our marriage can't come soon enough," Orys murmured, as she giggled.
"Our marriage, or our wedding night?" Margaery teased, running her hands along his chest.
"Both," Orys rumbled, desire in his tone before he stepped back and gathered himself. She was always impressed by his restraint, because she could see the desire in his eyes. He wanted to say fuck waiting and peel her out of her dress, but he was a man of principles and self-control. It only made her want to see him lose control all the more. "But I didn't call you here just for the pleasure of your company. I'd like you to set up a meeting for me with your family tomorrow morning. All of them that are within King's Landing, at least. Your parents, brothers and grandmother."
"Easily done," Margaery promised easily. "But surely you could have just sent a messenger, or asked my father at the tourney? He'd never refuse your call."
"Well, I also wanted to do this," Orys admitted, taking her hand into his and pulling something out of his pocket. It was a small, thin piece of string which he calmly wrapped round her ring finger, her eyes widening in realisation. "I know a ring was already picked out, but in truth I find it… unfitting for such fingers."
As he spoke, he tied off the string, pocketing it for later.
"And it also gave me an excuse to steal you away," Orys admitted playfully. "Would you care for a walk, my lady?"
"I would, my king," Margaery agreed, doing her best to send her triumphant pleasure to Arianne, wherever the scheming Dornishwoman was hiding.
— Next Day —
"It would be an honour, your Grace," Loras answered immediately, beaming with pride. "But… did Balon Swann not take the open spot on the Kingsguard?"
"He did, and I would rather you keep this to yourself until I hold court tonight, but there is about to be another open spot. Baelish's corruption ran very deep indeed, and one of the Kingsguard has broken his vows in a most unforgivable way. All will be revealed soon enough, but there will be another spot open after the council, and wanted to make sure you were willing to take the vows before it was offered to you before the court," Orys admitted with a tired sigh. She could only imagine how sick of the name 'Baelish' he must be already. "Lord Commander Barristan has approved your appointment, as I have given the final say to him. He did mention you'd be training with him to ensure that your tourney-won skills carry over to a real battle."
She almost pitied her brother. Not that Loras saw 'Barristan the Bold is going to beat you into shape' as cause for worry, excitement clear on his face.
"You didn't need us all here to ask Loras that," her grandmother cut in sharply. "What are you up to this time?"
"Lady Olenna!" her mother scolded instantly, and Margaery joined Olenna in being shocked by the firmness in her mother's tone. Her father seemed flummoxed, but Willas and Garlan simply shared a look. "Keep your thorns dulled around the Blessed King."
Ah. She had to wonder what had happened in the suite that her family had been inhabiting while she was enjoying a late night scroll in the gardens with Orys.
"It's quite alright, Lady Alerie," Orys replied smoothly, his smile unmoved. "And you're correct, Lady Olenna. I didn't need you all here for this, only Loras and Lord Mace."
Her grandmother frowned, looking at Orys with open suspicion. Surely she didn't think Orys was so easily browbeaten as her father?
"No, I had you gathered here for another reason entirely. I simply thought it best to get the smaller matter out of the way first," Orys continued, an easy smile on his lips. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but his eyes seemed to glint with golden light as he spoke. "Willas, may I see your leg please?"
The request was delivered with a casual air that belied the shock that filled the room, Willas freezing before he acquiesced and lifted his crippled leg with some effort, placing it on the table as Orys rose. Margaery decided to help, moving forward to help her brother lift his trouser to above his bad knee. The room was deathly quiet as Orys approached, his eyes moving over the knee.
It had been crushed beneath his horse in that fateful joust, and Willas had been forced to use a wheelchair most of the time. He used a cane for events such as this, but she knew that every step he took was a testament to his strength, the pain preventing anything more than a slow walk. Even now, his knee was an ugly, splotchy purple that made her frown deeply.
"This won't do," Orys whispered, and yet every single person in the room heard his words as he closed his eyes and brought his hand to his heart. "Lady Mara, Mother to us all, guide my hand."
As he opened his eyes, there was no trick of the light. They blazed with gold, and his hand began to glow with an intense golden light as he moved it to Willas' bad knee. Willas flinched instinctively, expecting pain at the slightest touch, before he instantly relaxed as the golden light travelled from Orys' palm into Willas' knee, the purple fading away as Willas gasped.
"It wouldn't do for my goodbrother to be left in such a state," Orys finished, the light fading but as she stared into his eyes, she could still see the specks of gold.
Willas placed his leg down, and let go of his cane as he rose to his feet.
"Do be careful, you have favoured your other leg for many years, and your leg needs to regain its muscle," Orys warned.
"I- there are no words enough to thank you for this, your Grace," Willas finally managed to say.
"Lady Mara?" her mother whispered.
"Names have power, Lady Alerie. We call her the Mother, but even the Gods have true names," Orys answered softly, his gaze seemingly focused on something only he could see before he blinked it away. "It is through Lord Zenithar that I work my forge, and through Lady Mara that I spread her compassion. The others have not deigned to reveal their names to me, and perhaps they never will, only time will tell."
Her mother stared at him with awe, mouth hung open and eyes wide as she whispered a desperate prayer.
"House Tyrell can never thank you enough for this, Your Grace," her father cut in, head held high and a beaming smile on his face. Well, his heir was no longer crippled, his second was the Commander of the City Guard, the third was a Kingsguard, and his youngest was going to be Queen. It was safe to say that her father was in a good mood. "If there is anything the Reach can do for you, you need only ask."
"A part of me wishes to say that your loyalty is all I need, but pragmatism forces my hand," Orys admitted with a quiet laugh. "Can you speak with Lord Stark? I know the Greyjoys have been burning the supplies the North were storing for the coming winter and destroying their farmlands. I will not have one of my realms starve because of the actions of those reaving madmen."
"Of course, your Grace. The Reach has more than enough food to spare. I'll find out what they need and when Paxter returns from aiding with the Greyjoy's, the Redwyne fleet can carry the goods to White Harbour," her father promised immediately. She could see the look on her grandmother's face, but with Willas healed, even the Queen of Thorns had not a single complaint to mutter.
Well, not right now anyway. She was sure Olenna was making a mental list to scold her father for in the very near future.
Orys didn't leave immediately with his work done, instead staying around to get to know his soon-to-be goodfamily, much to her joy as she listened to him and Garlan discussing the Goldcloaks.
The corruption amongst them seemed to run deep, and the Houses Tyrell, Baratheon and Lannister had lent men to fill the gaps being left by the purge.
"With all the chaos in the North, and rumours of the wildlings gathering in the greatest numbers we've seen since the last King Beyond the Wall, I intend to send most of the corrupt guards to the Night's Watch. I've sent ravens to Lord Commander Jeor Mormont informing him of this, and he'll be sending some Night's Watch to collect them," Orys admitted. Garlan had wasted no time in starting to deal with the corruption, with the support of Lord Renly and Lord Lannister. "Give them no mercy. I'd rather we take a temporary hit to the size of the Goldcloaks and root out the corruption at its core than permit it to fester by handing out minor punishments. Especially while King's Landing has the men of our Houses to fill in the gaps."
"It will be done, your Grace. I've put out word to the smallfolk that the Goldcloaks are under investigation for corruption, looking for witnesses. While it has been slow due to the fear the Goldcloaks have inspired, the reports have begun to trickle in, especially after I had those reported for the worst of the crimes publicly arrested," Garlan agreed, a firm frown on his lips. "Bribery is perhaps the least of the crimes. I've had repeated reports of Goldcloaks outright robbing smallfolk in broad daylight, 'confiscating goods' from less-well-connected merchants, and forcing themselves upon both whores and smallfolks' wives. The Night's Watch will have their hands full, I fear."
Garlan the Gallant, indeed. He'd thrown himself into this new role with every intention of rooting out the corruption and making the Goldcloaks into the keepers of law and order that they were supposed to be.
"They've been asking for more men for years. I suppose this is a case of being careful what you wish for," Orys sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as she took his hand. "I won't have my subjects terrified of the men that are tasked with keeping my law. The Goldcloaks are often the only representatives of me that many of the Smallfolk of King's Landing will ever meet, which will only cause discontent if they're' made up of thugs and rapists. Damn it, Renly, you had one job."
"A job he's losing, I take it?" her grandmother asked, and Orys simply nodded. She looked to Loras, but he was utterly unsurprised. Ah, he already knew, then?
"He's retiring from the position willingly, because he knows if he doesn't, I'll have to remove him," Orys explained. "I intend for Uncle Stannis to take his place. This corruption would never have occurred under his watch. If all goes well with the Iron Islands, I'll be making Paxter Redwyne the new Master of Ships. I considered Manderly to placate the North once Lord Stark leaves, but I have other plans for that now. Besides, even Uncle Stannis' reports have been reluctantly glowing in regards to Lord Redwyne's performance, and that is saying something given the bad blood there."
"I'll give Stannis credit, he's more capable of working with people he can't stand than most," her grandmother scoffed, watching as her mother brought Orys a drink. Olenna's face scowled briefly, and she knew another thing had just gotten added to the list of 'things to shout at her family for later'.
The Lady Tyrell acting like a serving girl was a strange sight to behold. As Orys took the goblet, she swore that her mother's fingers brushed against his in a nearly intimate gesture. Did she have to add her own mother into the list of rivals seeking to find their way into Orys' bedchambers?
"I'm sure Paxter would make a fine Master of Ships, your Grace," her father butted in. She made a note to find a reason to leave with Orys when he was finished here, given the look on her grandmother's face. "The Redwyne fleet has never been stronger, and he has made a fine Lord of the Arbor."
"I'm sure he will, once this Greyjoy nonsense is put to an end. Their blockade of the Iron Islands is proceeding well, and the Greyjoys have little way of getting food beyond fishing and raiding, neither of which they can do with the might of the Royal and Redwyne fleet sinking any ship they dare send out. It brings me no pleasure to starve them out, but this is the second time in this decade that the Ironborn have openly rebelled against the crown," Orys sighed, running a hand through his hair. "At least that's one of the realms I won't have to worry about representing when I restructure my council."
"You certainly set the tongues wagging with your announcement, your Grace," her father continued, ambition clear in his eyes. "Many suspected that Lord Stark, as noble a man as he may be, would not remain the Hand for long, but few, if any, foresaw your decision to reform the Small Council itself."
"It has served its purpose, over the years, but I simply don't believe it covers enough for the realm to truly thrive," Orys explained softly. "I intend to leave my Kingdoms a far greater place than I found it."
"So it is true then? You are adding new positions onto the Small Council?" her father continued, a hint of avarice in his tone. Another to the list of things he was going to be hit by grandmother's cane for the moment they had some privacy, no doubt.
"At least three, potentially four or more. The Small Council has remained more or less unchanged since Aegon the Conqueror first created it. I see no reason to leave things as they were three hundred years ago, when the realm and its population has been steadily growing more and more over those same years," Orys explained. "But as I said, I do not intend to make any changes until such a time as the chaos in the North has settled."
She could tell that her father wanted to ask about what these new positions would be, but he stopped himself. She could also tell that her mother was desperate to ask Orys more about his 'blessings', as the conversation took to lighter topics. Garlan and Willas took the chance to embarrass her by regaling tales of her younger mishaps in Highgarden, but she was just glad that Orys and her family got along so well.
"Your Grace, if you wish to handle the matter of court tonight, you will need to leave soon," Alys Oakheart reminded Orys, who seemed surprised at how long he'd been here.
"Quite right, Ser Alys. Duty calls," Orys agreed, rising up. "It has been a pleasure to get to know Margaery's family, but there remains more corruption that needs stomping out. People need to learn that not even a white cloak can hide the stain of corruption from my eyes. I hope to see you in court later."
She rose to curtsy to him, but he simply took her hand and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles.
"Until our next walk, my lady," Orys promised, getting a beaming smile from her as they all said their goodbyes.
"Quite a different kind than his father, is he not?" Olenna finally spoke, getting their attention. "Time will tell how his reforms go, I suppose."
"They will succeed," her mother spoke before Margaery could. "How could they not, when he is so beloved by the Seven themselves?"
Few in their family would speak so challengingly to the Queen of Thorns, and as the two matriarchs stared each other down, she cursed herself. She was supposed to find a way to get out of here before this happened.
For all his gallantry, Garlan was quick to excuse himself under the claim of needing to see to his new duties. Margaery, Willas and Mace had no such excuses, as the barbs began to fly.
— King Orys Baratheon —
It's become clear that my courtiers expect a spectacle every single time I hold court.
Well, maybe they're right to.
"You cannot do this! Kingsguard serve for life, I cannot be dismissed-" Meryn Trant shouts, desperation and fear on his face. Barristan the Bold and Preston Greenfield stand at either side of him, both placing their hands on their blades. "I have friends that will not stand for this-"
"Friends like Petyr Baelish, who sated your twisted desires in exchange for information on the comings and goings of the King you were sworn to protect the secrets of?" I cut in, and instantly I see Meryn lose all colour.
The door opens, and as pale as he seemed before, his face turns as pale as chalk as Tyrion and Alys lead in a tiny slip of a girl, clearly nervous and carrying wounds no child should have. She freezes as she sees Meryn, a full-body shudder going through her as she goes to back away, only stopping at Tyrion's quiet words.
"I- what is this?" Meryn asks, but I can only laugh. It is not a pleasant, amused laugh.
"You are a fine swordsman, Meryn, but you're a poor liar. This is Alise, the daughter of a tanner who could not afford his taxes. The kind and noble Lord Baelish saw that the poor man could not afford to feed his children, and offered to take little Alise to be trained as a maid, paying them a sum of money. Then, Baelish took her to one of his many brothels where she was sold to the highest bidder, those with… interests that regular whores could not satisfy," I say, hearing the gasping through the court. "Alise, do you recognise this man?"
Alise freezes, a shaky nod before the tears flow. Making a decision, I rise from my seat and climb down the steps to her. I blame Mara for this, because seeing upset children strikes deep. The court gasps as I move down onto one knee so I'm at eye level with her.
"It's okay, he'll never hurt you again. Nor will he hurt any other little girls. Be brave, you are safe here," I promise, enveloping her in a golden glow as her wounds fade. Mara's embrace gives Alise the strength to speak up as I step back, rising to my feet.
Alise, comforted by the Divine Mother herself, speaks up and begins her tale. Meryn tries to interrupt, multiple times, only for Barristan to silence him with a blow to the back of the head. The court gets their spectacle today, it seems, as Alise recalls the scars on Meryn's body and I have him stripped from the torso up, the entire court seeing the matching scars.
I nod to Tyrion to guide Alise away, where she will actually be trained to become a maid for the royal household, and turn back to Meryn Trant.
"I want to take the Black!" Meryn spits out. I can tell he almost asked for a trial by combat, before realising that there are a lot of people better than him in this room that want him dead. Barristan included.
"Didn't you say it yourself, Trant? Kingsguard serve for life, and your services are no longer desired," I reply coldly. "Lord Commander?"
Meryn doesn't even have time to argue, turning to face Barristan. His eyes widen, and he reacts far too late as Barristan's new blade cleaves through muscle and bone, a severed head falling to the floor.
"Thank you, Lord Commander," I say simply as I retake my seat. He makes no show of his new Valyrian steel blade, made for the office of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, wiping the blood from it and sheathing it as the body is removed. "My apologies for the brutality. I truly do not want to make a habit of taking a head each time I sit on this throne, but when I learnt of Meryn's interests, he was guarding my little sister. As you can imagine, I found this entirely unacceptable. Nobody who would do such things to a child is worthy of calling themselves a knight, let alone a Kingsguard."
The applause makes me hide a smile. They got their spectacle.
Loras and Balon are appointed before the court, both gaining white cloaks with the relevant amount of fanfare before they take their place in the line. I can't help but notice that Boros Blount is sweating an awful lot. I know he also visited the brothels, but his tastes are more mundane and far less sickening. He's no acclaimed knight, but his crimes are minor enough that I can let them slide.
If only because Barristan has taken Meryn's actions very poorly and intends to whip the Kingsguard back into shape, with my full support. What matters is that the Kingsguard return to their renown of old, as the best of the best. If Boros cannot make the cut, I'll find another use for him.
With the drama over, I handle a few smaller matters. Tyrion has another brought before me, a minor highborn. The third son of a minor house. The charges are simple, he badly beat one of Tyrion's, and therefore my, whores after she 'smirked' at his poor performance.
Tyrion's reputable thugs took him down, and he's been screaming his privilege ever since. Oddly enough, he's not screaming as he stands next to the puddle of Meryn Trant's blood.
In the end, he keeps his head. I cannot punish the highborn so heavily or I risk them revolting. In fact, we timed this on purpose so he'd be brought in while the tale of 'Ser' Meryn Trant is still fresh in their minds.
Instead, his house is fined for assaulting one of my subjects without due cause, and ordered to pay the girl directly for both the injuries and the work she will miss because of her bloodied face. He looks relieved until he realises that he certainly doesn't have the coin himself, and will need to go to his father for aid. He's also blacklisted from the Guild of Pleasure Houses, which almost seems to hurt him more. Shaming him in front of the court, without seeming tyrannical or bloodthirsty.
In fact, all the cases brought before me are similar. Trials with which I can show that execution is certainly not my go-to method of doling out justice, but something I only use when I see no other choice.
It's a balancing act to keep both the Smallfolk and the Highborn happy, but it is a tightrope which I am growing increasingly comfortable walking.
— Bonus Scene — Margaery Tyrell
Her late night walks in the gardens were becoming a constant in her life that she looked forward to each day. Myrcella had joined them today, eager for her brother's attention and Margaery didn't blame the younger girl for doing so.
Not least of which was because much like how Orys had wooed her family, she was doing the same with Myrcella to show Orys how fitting a bride she was for him. Still, she was also grateful when Sansa had convinced Myrcella to give them some space, the other girl even giving Margaery a secret, knowing wink.
Sansa had been down of late, with the news from Winterfell, and Margaery suspected she enjoyed the distraction of playing keep-away with Myrcella to give her and Orys a moment of privacy.
They'd barely gotten around the corner before her lips were on Orys', her hands on his body. Loras, wisely, moved a noticeable distance from them. Not too far that he wasn't still guarding the King, but far enough that he wouldn't be standing next to them. She supposed having a homosexual Kingsguard who was also the Queen's brother helped in these intimate moments. Orys had to worry about Loras ogling him more than her.
Margaery smiled into the kiss as Orys' hand came to her breast. She often put it there herself, but he was getting increasingly frisky of late. Her dress was low cut, putting her cleavage on display and it meant that Orys could slide his hand into the dress to touch her breasts directly for the first time. She giggled into the kiss, encouraging him as his 'divine' fingers gently teased her nipple, finding it already hard. Looking around for a moment, she broke the kiss with an impish smile and quickly undid his belt. Orys' eyes widened slightly, but he did nothing to stop her as she grasped his manhood and immediately froze.
…where they all meant to be this big? How, in the Seven Hells, was that meant to go inside her?!