The Beheading of a Stark

He stood before the people,

His head held high.

Traitor of the crown!

People yelling,

Screaming all around his daughters.

His eldest crying out for mercy.

His youngest watching in silent anguish,

Hand grasped on a sword's hilt.

The walls of the Red Keep all around them,

Closing them in.

Gold outlined the crowd,

The shining capes of guards.

Above them,

The queen who had eyes filled with ice,

Beautiful and corrupt.

Her son ordered his death,

Young in the world of ruling.

The time had come,

He was done.

Thud.

Head landing,

A head of a lord.

The Hand is dead!

The youngest fled,

With the help of her teacher.

The eldest stayed,

Trapped.