The Great Sept of Baelor remained silent long after King Damon Targaryen's final words faded into the vaulted ceiling.
"Today begins the trials."
The words lingered in the air like the last echoes of a great bell.
No lord moved. No knight shifted his feet.
A murmur rippled through the assembled nobility before fading as Damon raised one hand.
Silence returned immediately.
The High Septon stepped forward, unfurling a parchment.
"By command of His Grace, Damon of House Targaryen, First of His Name, these proceedings are convened before the eyes of gods and men."
His voice carried throughout the vast sept.
"The accused stand charged with levying war against the Iron Throne, raising banners in rebellion, violating sworn oaths of fealty, disturbing the King's Peace, and bringing about the death of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen during the course of the rebellion."
No one interrupted.
The charges were known to every person present.
Still...
Hearing them spoken aloud carried a different weight.
When the High Septon stepped back, Damon descended from the altar.
Each measured footstep echoed through the Sept.
He stopped several paces before the prisoners.
His expression revealed neither anger nor satisfaction.
Only purpose.
"Lords of Westeros," Damon began, "this war has ended."
His gaze drifted across the assembled nobility.
"The realm has bled enough."
"I have no desire to continue shedding blood through vengeance."
A few surprised glances passed between the gathered lords, thinking that Damon was going to give mercy to his enemies.
"But neither can rebellion become a thing without consequence."
His voice remained calm.
"The Iron Throne exists because the kingdoms accepted one sovereign."
"If every lord may decide for himself when that oath is inconvenient..."
"...then there are no Seven Kingdoms."
"Only seven wars are waiting to happen."
Tywin Lannister watched closely.
Every sentence built upon the last.
Not emotion.
Reason.
Damon continued.
"The judgments of this court are not intended to satisfy hatred."
"They are intended to preserve the peace that follows."
Across the aisle, Olenna Tyrell gave the slightest nod.
A king explaining the principle behind his decisions before announcing them.
Very interesting.
Damon turned toward Robert Baratheon first.
"Robert Baratheon."
Robert answered with a cold laugh.
"You'll hear no begging from me, boy. I only regret I didn't get to smash your head as well."
Several Gold Cloaks stiffened.
Damon merely regarded him.
"You led the armies that marched against the Crown."
"I did."
"You proclaimed yourself rightful king."
"I would have been."
Murmurs spread again.
Robert lifted his chin defiantly.
"I'd have made a better king than your father."
The statement drew several sharp breaths.
Damon simply inclined his head.
"Perhaps."
Robert blinked.
The answer had not been what he expected.
"But this court sits in judgment upon rebellion."
"Not speculation."
His attention shifted.
"Jon Arryn."
The old falcon met his eyes.
"You were the first great lord to raise banners."
"I was."
"You refused lawful royal commands."
"I refused unlawful murder."
Damon remained silent for a moment.
"No ruler is above judgment, nor is any lord."
Jon Arryn slowly nodded.
A hard truth. Yet still a truth.
Finally... Damon turned toward Eddard Stark.
"You marched south beneath rebel banners."
"I did."
"You fought loyal men."
"I did."
"You broke your oath to the Crown."
Ned closed his eyes briefly.
"...I did."
Silence settled over the hall.
Damon allowed it to linger.
Then he spoke once more.
Damon allowed the silence to linger before speaking once more.
"The punishments of this court have been reached long ago; they are as follows."
He looked first toward Eddard Stark.
"The North."
"House Stark shall surrender one-third of its treasury to the Crown."
"The North shall pay an additional five percent in taxes for five years."
"The houses that followed Winterfell shall make contributions toward the rebuilding of the realm."
"Lord Stark shall retain Winterfell."
"The Crown acknowledges the circumstances that drew the North into this war."
"This is mercy."
"If Lord Stark rejects these terms..."
"...he rejects the Crown's mercy."
"And shall be sentenced to death."
His eyes shifted.
"The Vale."
"House Arryn shall surrender half its treasury."
"The Vale shall pay an additional ten percent in taxes for eight years."
"The houses that followed the Eyrie shall likewise contribute to the rebuilding of the realm."
"Jon Arryn is sentenced to death."
"He leaves no lawful heir."
"The Crown shall appoint a new Lord of the Vale."
He continued without pause.
"The Stormlands."
"House Baratheon shall surrender half its treasury."
"The Stormlands shall pay an additional five percent in taxes for five years."
"Robert Baratheon is sentenced to death."
"Renly Baratheon shall inherit Storm's End."
"He shall be raised in King's Landing until he comes of age."
"Until then..."
"The Crown shall appoint a regent to govern in his name."
Finally...
"The Riverlands."
"House Tully shall surrender one-third of its treasury."
"The Riverlands shall pay an additional five percent in taxes for five years."
"If Lord Stark rejects the mercy offered him..."
"The child born to Catelyn Stark shall hold no claim to Winterfell."
"Lysa Arryn shall hold no claim to the Vale."
As the gathered lords listened...
Color slowly drained from several faces.
None more than Hoster Tully's.
He clutched the arm of his bench.
His daughters' marriages...
The alliances he had sacrificed so much to create...
Had been rendered nearly worthless in a matter of minutes.
Robert took one step forward despite his chains.
"I reject your judgment."
Every eye turned toward him.
Robert's voice thundered through the chamber.
"I demand my right."
He lifted his bound hands.
"Trial by combat."
The words echoed beneath the great dome.
Many nobles exchanged uncertain looks, not sure if Damon would grant it, afterall it wouldn't be surprising if he simply killed them or burned them in dragonfire for the crime of starting a rebellion.
Jon Arryn closed his eyes briefly before opening them once more.
Then, to the surprise of many...
"So do I."
His voice lacked Robert's fury.
But not his resolve.
"I invoke the same right."
The silence that followed felt almost tangible.
Every gaze shifted toward Damon.
Would the new king deny one of Westeros' oldest customs?
For several long heartbeats...
He said nothing.
Then "The laws of this realm existed before my reign."
His calm voice carried effortlessly through the Sept. "I will not begin my rule by casting them aside."
A collective breath escaped the assembled lords.
"The requests are granted."
Relief spread across more than one face; this alone showed the new Targaryen King was better than his father.
Until Damon continued.
"As King..."
"...I name myself the Crown's champion."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Even Robert stared.
Tywin's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
Olenna's fingers stopped tapping against her cane.
Damon's expression never changed.
"You shall each have two days."
His gaze settled first upon Robert.
"Find a champion."
Then Jon Arryn.
"You as well."
Another pause.
His violet eyes slowly swept across the gathered nobility.
Every lord.
Every knight.
Every sworn sword.
"Any man may freely volunteer."
Not a soul moved.
"I will forbid no one."
"But understand what that choice declares."
His voice remained almost conversational.
"The man who stands for Robert Baratheon or Jon Arryn does more than fight a duel."
"He announces before gods and men..."
"...that he believes their rebellion just."
No threat.
No raised voice.
Only certainty.
"Choose carefully."
The words settled over the Sept like fresh snowfall.
No knight stepped forward.
No lord spoke.
Even Oberyn Martell, normally quick with wit, remained thoughtful.
The political cost had become obvious.
Whoever volunteered would forever be remembered as the champion of the rebellion.
Robert's jaw tightened.
Jon Arryn lowered his eyes.
Damon turned at last toward Eddard Stark.
"And you, Lord Stark?"
The hall held its breath.
Surely the Wolf of Winterfell would demand the same.
Ned slowly stepped forward; his chains clinked softly.
Then, he looked at Damon and simply stared into his eyes as if looking for something, before finally speaking. " The Vale, the Stormlands, the Riverlands, and the North men from these places all came together to fight against the mad king who killed my Father and brother, against a Prince who kidnapped my sister, and in doing so, many men died, many burned by your dragon's fire."
The room grew tense and heavy, and Damon's eyes turned cold. He realized what Ned was doing, even after their conversation. Even after he gave him a chance, did he think he was joking when he said he would let his entire family die?
Damon did not move.
His expression did not change.
Only his violet eyes became utterly still.
Tywin noticed immediately.
So did Olenna.
They had both spent decades studying powerful men.
Rage shouted.
True anger became quiet.
ROAR!!!!!x2
Perhaps feeling Damon's suppressed rage, Dreamfyre and Caraxes were now flying low over the Great Sept.
The gathered lords were not trembling under the pressure as they looked at the door, but were unable to move.
Tywin looked on in interest, wanting to see if the young King would hold his temper, or lash out on the spot.
But before anything could happen, Ned Stark continued. " It would not be honorable or right for me to bend the knee and accept your punishments just to save my life; I also demand trial by combat."
Gasps spread throughout the Sept.
Damon's anger seemed to be about to erupt when it disappeared; he looked at Ned Stark and simply said. "Granted."
Then looked away from Ned Stark back to the gathered Lords.
"There remains one final matter."
He looked toward Tywin Lannister.
"Lord Tywin."
The Lord of Casterly Rock stepped forward.
"In recognition of your ability in governance, and the service you have rendered in restoring order. I formally appoint you before all the Lords gathered as Hand of the King."
Tywin knelt.
"I accept, Your Grace."
"I shall serve the Crown faithfully."
Damon nodded once.
"Rise, Lord Hand."
Tywin rose.
The title seemed to settle naturally upon him.
Then Damon looked toward another familiar face.
"Lady Olenna Tyrell."
A murmur immediately spread.
The Queen of Thorns approached with her customary confidence.
"I have found that your wisdom is rare, and so is your loyalty to House Targaryen. I therefore formally appoint you before all the lords present as Master of Laws."
The Sept erupted into whispers.
A woman.
On the Small Council.
Several older lords exchanged scandalized looks.
Others merely watched.
Olenna smiled.
"I had intended to enjoy my old age."
A ripple of restrained laughter spread through the chamber.
"Your Grace has robbed me of that opportunity."
Damon allowed himself the faintest smile.
"I find idleness ill suits capable people."
She inclined her head.
"Then I accept."
The whispering only intensified.
Tywin stood to Damon's right.
Olenna to his left.
Lion and Rose.
Power balanced by power.
Varys watched from the shadows near the altar.
The king had accomplished a lot in a single morning.
He had crowned himself. Upheld the law.
Accepted trial by combat without hesitation. And publicly revealed the foundations of a new Small Council.
As the bells of Baelor began ringing once more across King's Landing, every lord departed with a different thought.
Some wondered who would champion Robert Baratheon, Eddard Stark, and Jon Arryn.
Others questioned whether anyone would dare face Damon Targaryen.
But all agreed upon one thing.
The realm they had known had ended.
A different Westeros had begun.