"No." Wylla's brown eyes flashed with disgust and rage. She crossed her arms. "That is not justice. You imprison the rebels! You execute them! You send them to the Wall! You don't reward the rebels with an old, worthless title!"
Lyarra sighed and adjusted her position on the cushioned chair irritably. She couldn't find a comfortable resting position and the babe would not settle. "Orys will have Randyll Tarly executed for his actions – there's no question about it. He already stripped him of his title and Tarly is dwelling in the black cells until he is to be executed. As he killed the king's half-brother and threatened the daughter of a powerful lord, he was refused any right to demand a trial by combat. He'd be better off at the Wall, but he must die." She knew it wasn't what Wylla Manderly wanted to hear, but what else could she say? Orys's plans weren't exactly of the rewarding nature – it was more of a safety precaution against the Tyrells and to an extent, unruly and rebellious Dornishmen.
"He wants to give the Tarlys the title 'Defender of the Marches'," Wylla snarled, skulking angrily in circles around Lyarra's chamber. Lyarra watched her prowl. She had never seen her friend so furious before. She'd comforted Wylla once she was returned to her after the battles ended. She suggested for Wylla to return to White Harbour for a period of recovery, but Wylla refused. "I do not wish for you to be lonely," Wylla had said.
It was a kind gesture and Lyarra would never forget it.
"Your Grace?" Ser Balon Swann stepped forward from his assigned position at the door. "Will you be attending court today?"
Lyarra nodded. She carefully stood up. She quickly glanced at the mirror. She looked paler than usual, but apart from that, ready to attend court. There'd been a little trouble and the black brothers expected to arrive at King's Landing in the morning were delayed in the Riverlands. The queen mother had suspected it was trouble stirred up by the Freys. Hearing this, Orys delayed the executions for the late afternoon and announced another court session in the morning to reward all those who were loyal to House Baratheon.
"What do you think of my husband's decision to give the title 'Defender of the Marches' to House Tarly?" Lyarra asked Ser Balon. The burly knight's eyebrows rose in surprise. He clearly did not expect that question. "It is the king's decision, Your Grace," Ser Balon responded diplomatically. "Whether I agree with it or not, it is not my place to say. My duty is to protect him and you, Your Grace."
"Surely you have an opinion, Ser Balon."
Ser Balon hesitated as he began to escort Lyarra and Wylla to the Great Hall. "I do not think the title should be given immediately to House Tarly. It would anger the other lords. Perhaps it should be hinted to House Tarly – a future reward of sorts if they remain loyal. It is wise of the king to seek out friendship with the um, other noble houses of the Reach in an effort to curb House Tyrell's power."
Lyarra nodded in agreement. "That is my opinion too. Let us hope Lord Royce, Lord Baratheon and my brother can convince the king." She had no desire to see noble Houses rewarded for crimes against Westeros, no matter how minor. Lord Baratheon would be adamant House Tarly needed no reward; their lives and the return of their lordship and lands was a reward enough. Robb, as the voice of the North, declared that the northern lords would not be satisfied until House Tarly suffers for Randyll Tarly's actions. Only Lord Royce was not in full disapproval of Orys's decision. Uncertain, yes; disapproving, no.
Upon arriving at the Great Hall, Lyarra waited for the herald to announce her, which he promptly did at once. "All hail Her Grace, Lyarra of House Stark, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!" Everyone fell into bows or curtsies as Lyarra gracefully walked on the long red carpet towards the raised iron dais. At the foot of the dais, she stopped and dipped her head respectfully to Orys before taking a seat on the cushioned chair close by.
"All hail Her Grace, Catelyn of House Tully, the king's mother and the Dowager Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!"
Lyarra smiled at her good-mother who took a seat on her left. Though she was still in mourning, the queen mother was dressed magnificently: a gown of black damask decorated with dark blue sapphires and rubies as red as blood. Around her waist was a silver belt clasped together at the front with a silver brooch that had been wrought in the shape of a trout. Her auburn hair was trapped in a web of complicated braids topped with a simple, delicate silver crown.
It was not just the queen mother who was finely dressed. The Great Hall was a sea of jewels, furs, and bright fabrics. Whilst the last court hour was gloomy and grim, this one was brighter and more cheerful. It was also much more crowded, as about every single lord, lady, knight and squire as well as rich and important townsfolk, had wished to see the people Orys appointed to his small council and the people Orys planned to reward for their services to the crown. The Great Hall doors closed with a boom and the trumpets blasted, announcing the beginning of the special court session.
Orys announced the members of the small council first. "I name my uncle Lord Stannis Baratheon the Hand of the King. Lord Yohn Royce will be Master of Laws as my good-father requested leave from that office, Lord Montfort Velaryon, the Master of Ships, and due to Lord Kevan Lannister's suggestion, Tyrion Lannister will take his place as Master of Coin. As the traitor Varys had escaped during the final battle, the position Master of Whisperers will be given to Davos Seaworth." Lyarra clapped with the rest of the court as the men named bowed before Orys, and took their seats at the long council table.
Lyarra listened to Orys remind the court that it wasn't only Houses Tyrell and Martell that declared for the Targaryen usurper. "Lord Celtigar was one of those traitors," Orys was saying. "When he was given the chance, he refused to yield. In the end, he was killed in battle. As he had no heirs, Claw Isle and other lands that belonged to House Celtigar are in my control. As a reward for his staunch loyalty and services to House Baratheon, I bestow Claw Isle, the lordship, and the title of 'Warden of Crackclaw Point' to House Seaworth for Lord Seaworth to give to any one of his sons." Lyarra beamed at the astonished Onion Knight who stumbled up and clumsily bowed again to the king. No one deserved those honours more than Lord Davos Seaworth. She heard of his brave deeds and his unswerving loyalty to House Baratheon, to Lord Stannis Baratheon in particular.
The lords of the Crownlands – with the exception of Lord Rykker – who bent the knee at the end of the war were forgiven and allowed to keep their lands and titles. Though Lord Rykker languished a prisoner in Casterly Rock, Orys declared House Rykker's fate. "The Rykkers are stripped of Duskendale," Orys announced. "For the present, I have appointed my cousin Hoster Tully the castellan; upon his return to Riverrun, Ser Edmyn Mallister will control Duskendale and its incomes until I find a loyal House worthy of the lands.
"Lord Rykker – Ser Renfred Rykker now – will remain a prisoner until he dies. His wife will continue living comfortably at the Dun Fort, and is welcome to come to court if she desires. Their sons will continue their education as wards of House Tully and House Lannister as will their daughters. If the sons excel or distinguish themselves, they will be honoured. However, they will never retain Duskendale – or any Rykker lands – again."
Lyarra shivered a little. There was an ominous warning in Orys's tone. He was a merciful man, but his mercy would not extend so far to forgive a second time – especially to a noble House who fought against his family before.
Orys then called other notable heroes of the war forward for their rewards. He granted the Rosby title, lands and incomes to Ser Perwyn Frey, brother of Lady Roslin who had married Cley Cerwyn; Ser Timor Massey was given the choice of either wedding Lady Lollys Stokeworth, the prospective heiress of Stokeworth or choice lands in the Crownlands; Sers Stanwell Errol and Narbert Grandison and Lord Fell were showered with praise, new weapons and armour and the solemn promise of fertile lands in the Reach (for the two knights) and an important place in the royal household or small council (for Lord Fell); and many men and brave squires who were knighted the day before, were mentioned.
To end the court session, Orys called forward Lords Royce, Baratheon, Redfort, Tully and Mallister. "I am grateful to every lord and knight who fought with me in the war," Orys said to the courtiers who were growing restless. "Lords Royce and Redfort and Mallister and my uncles Lord Baratheon and Lord Tully in particular. These lords have offered me helpful advice every step of the way and fought with me. Lord Baratheon, you are now my Hand. Lord Royce, you are now the Master of Laws." He looked at Lords Tully, Redfort and Mallister. "My lords, if there's any boon you would ask of me, ask and it shall be yours."
Lyarra leant forward slightly with interest.
"Your Grace, my second son Ser Creighton, is a fine fighter," said Lord Horton Redfort. "It'll be a great honour to House Redfort if you accept him as a knight of the Kingsguard. He is on his way to King's Landing as we speak. I am a widower," he added before Orys could speak. "I wish to remarry – your dear aunt, the Lady Lysa Arryn perhaps. A beautiful woman, Lady Arryn, and a widow for too long do you not agree?"
"I will be honoured to accept Ser Creighton," said Orys, smiling at him. "There is a vacant place in the Kingsguard and if Ser Creighton wishes to take it, he may. As for my aunt Lady Arryn, you have permission to court her if you desire. If the lady in question prefers widowhood, I cannot force her to wed you." He turned to Lord Mallister. "What of you, my lord?"
"You have honoured my House greatly, Your Grace," said Lord Mallister with a broad smile. "I will be delighted if you consider my House worthy to unite with in the future." His blue-grey eyes travelled to Lyarra's stomach.
"Done," said Orys warmly. Lyarra managed a weak smile. So it was to be either a son or daughter for Lord Mallister's future great grandchildren. It seemed that Ser Edmyn, his grandson, must wed and father children quickly if Orys was to in some way to honour Lord Mallister's request.
"My late mother's cousin Lady Whent, left no Whent heirs," spoke Lord Tully. "As I am descended from the late Lady Whent's youngest uncle Ser Osric Whent, Harrenhal is House Tully's by right. I wish to have it torn down and rebuilt to two smaller castles for my sons and their future sons."
"No one has attempted to tear down Harrenhal," said Orys with a frown. "It is a massive castle. It'll take too much gold and effort. However, if it is what you do want, you may do as you wish with Harrenhal. I will grant you a sum of gold – as a gift from a nephew to his uncle."
Lord Tully bowed. "I thank you Your Grace."
Everyone wanted to see the executions and departures. Lyarra felt disturbed that they were the most discussed topics of conversation at court. If she was not the queen and Orys's wife, she would've gladly stayed away from the execution hour. Northerners must not shy away from witnessing justice, she recalled Father's solemn words. The one who passes the sentence must swing the sword. Will Orys execute the traitors himself? The southron way was to pay an executioner to kill – or hang or disembowel – the traitors.
In a plain, black gown trimmed in grey, Lyarra made her way to the courtyard in the company of Lady Wylla and Ser Barristan Selmy. From all the ladies who'd returned to Lyarra's large retinue and those who were appointed their either as a sign of honour or a potential hostage, Lyarra felt closest to Wylla. It was most likely because Wylla Manderly was a fellow Northerner and a childhood friend, if not acquaintance. It was also due to the terrifying experiences during the war as hostages. Poor Wylla was dragged to the courtyard in the midst of battle! As for Ser Barristan's presence, Orys had insisted that he guards her, as her own sworn shields had been slain during the war. Lyarra felt a lump in her throat. When she had asked about Jory Cassel, she was told he was dead and his body buried with the others in a pit outside of King's Landing.
Orys was already at the courtyard, supervising the activities. Three wandering crows were inspecting the wagons and another was speaking to Orys. Lyarra had a good look at the wagons before joining Orys. The wagons were laden with food and other useful supplies: hides and bolts of cloth, bars of pig iron, a few books, a cage of ravens, paper and ink, a bale of sourleaf, jars of oil and preserved meats, a number of waterskins, dried fruit, various nuts and honey oat cakes and chests of medicine and spices. The provisions had been generously provided by Orys, who respected the men of the Night's Watch more than his father did. Teams of plow horses were harnessed to the wagons. Next to the wagons were about five or six donkeys for the poorer boys who had volunteered to take the black.
Riding up to the black brothers and wagons were the new noble recruits from House Tyrell: Mace Tyrell in the lead on a black destrier followed by his brother Ser Moryn, the former Lord Commander of the City Watch of Oldtown, and then his older son Ser Luthor, who had been captured by Lord Baratheon, and Ser Leo Tyrell, Mace's cousin, was last. All four Tyrell knights – apparently even the Fat Flower was a knight before he became the lord – were dressed as if they were on their way to a feast rather than to live out the remainder of their days serving in the Night's Watch. They wore black leather boots, black woollen pants, fine black moleskin gloves and supple coats of gleaming black ringmail over layers of black wool and boiled leather. Around their shoulders were warm-looking cloaks that might be suitable for autumn, but certainly not a harsh and cold northern winter at the Wall. Lyarra shook her head. The poor men were unprepared.
When the four black brothers saw them, they guffawed. "You'll freeze ya balls off wearing that," one jeered.
"My queen?" Lyarra turned in surprise as Willas Tyrell limped up to her. He'd abandoned his fine green tunic for a plain grey one. The cloak he wore was also a darker shade of grey, pinned together by a golden rose brooch. "I'd hoped to talk to you before I leave," he said, glancing at the waiting guards. "I know my wife is on her way here. Please give this letter to her." He handed a folded piece of paper to Lyarra. "On my honour Your Grace, I never treated her poorly. We were happy. Not in love, but happy. If Princess Lyanna desires to return to Highgarden, all my horses, hawks and hounds are hers."
"That is a sweet gesture, my lord."
Willas smiled kindly. "I'll have no need of them anymore. It is kind of the king to give me a choice in my future, unlike my father. If I wasn't heir to Highgarden, I would've been more than happy studying in the Citadel, forging my chain. Here is my chance. I hope if we speak again, I will be Maester Willas, not Willas Tyrell, traitor to the king."
Lyarra smiled back. "I wish you well in your journey, my lord. Perhaps one day in the future, you will be elected as the Grand Maester."
Once Willas bowed and left for the Citadel in the company of four Hightower knights, the black brothers departed as well with their new recruits. Lyarra took a deep breath. The executions would begin soon, once the Tyrell children were to be sent off as wards or squires.
Orys began directing the worried Tyrell youths to their new guardians. Fifteen year old Luthor, Ser Moryn's great grandson, and his cousin Lucas (Ser Leo's son) were to be wards of Lord Hightower; Ser Leo's two daughters the fifteen year old Lady Alla and the ten year old Lady Leona, were to continue their education with Lord Lannister's children and relations at Casterly Rock; and Ser Leo's other two sons Lyonel and Lorent, were to be Orys's squire and page.
"Your Grace!" A tearful woman with wide brown eyes and honey blonde hair, broke away from the cluster of Tyrells and ran to Orys and Lyarra. She fell to her knees in the courtyard. "Please do not take my daughters," she pleaded, tears in her eyes. "My husband Ser Leo was only following the orders of his cousins when he fought in the war. He willingly chose to took the black in place of Ser Garlan or Ser Theodore. We have five beautiful children, my king, and you already took our sons away from me. Please spare my daughters, Your Grace. Please."
The poor woman. If there were any other young Tyrells, she would not have to lose all her children to wardships to pay for the Queen of Thorns's crimes. Lyarra helped the sobbing woman to her feet and gazed at Orys. "I beg you to spare her of her daughters," she said quietly. "You swore you wanted to be a good king, one of fairness and mercy. This lady is innocent, as are her daughters."
Orys nodded thoughtfully. "Lord Lannister will take Lyonel," he said at last. "I appoint Lady Leona as the queen's cupbearer. You will see your daughter here at court, my lady. You will still spend time with her. Your older daughter Lady Alla, will be Lady Lannister's cupbearer once she arrives at King's Landing."
"Thank you Your Grace," the woman whispered, bowing and slowly retreating back to the other Tyrell women. They were then ushered inside the castle. It was time for the executions.
"Will you watch?" Orys asked Lyarra as they walked to the scaffold that'd been hastily built in the courtyard.
Lyarra nodded. "Unpleasant, but we must show the people that we are strong and united. As your wife, it is my duty to support you. Will you be beheading the traitors yourself?"
Orys hesitated for a second before nodding. "I like the Northern way," he said, pulling out his sword. "It shows great strength and quality of kingship. Yes, I will execute the prisoners myself. I sentenced them to die, and I will swing the blade. It will be the southron custom from this moment onwards as well. The one who gives the sentence swings the sword." He stopped at the bottom of the scaffold. He kissed Lyarra on the cheek. Lyarra stepped back and smiled. The kiss did not feel like a kiss from the songs, she thought as the prisoners were led out in chains. It wasn't warm, yet it wasn't cold and meaningless either. Maybe one day when we are closer, our kisses will be more out of love than duty. She shook those thoughts out of her mind. They were foolish thoughts, the thoughts of a naïve young girl. It was also inappropriate for an execution.
The prominent prisoners – Obara Sand, the Queen of Thorns and the Usurper – were forced into a line. Two Baratheon guards forced the false dragon to climb up the steps of the scaffold and pushed him to his knees on the straw pallet.
"This man is a traitor," Orys announced. "He conspired with the Martells and Tyrells to usurp my throne. For his crimes of high treason, I sentence him to die." He looked at the calm man on his knees beside him. "Any last words?"
Lyarra held her breath. What would the false dragon say? Would he say false words to earn a quick beheading, or would he spit at Orys's feet and curse him? There was silence in the courtyard. Every courtier present wanted to hear Aegon the Usurper speak for the last time. Lyarra looked away as the false dragon fixed his violet eyes on her. His eyes were impassive…so expressionless.
"I die today," the false dragon said, loudly and clearly. "I surrendered when I'd had the chance to fight until my death. I surrendered for the sake of my babe who is growing strong in my wife's belly. I surrendered for my wife to live and for our child to have the chance to live. I die today for them." He placed his head on the roughly fashioned wooden chopping block.
Lyarra's eyes met Orys's. You can do it, she silently told him. You are strong. I know you can do it.
Gripping his sword with both hands, her husband raised it and swung it; in a single, swift movement, he cleanly beheaded the traitor. The false dragon's head rolled into the basket placed in front of the chopping block. His blood flowed like a river across the scaffold. More of his blood gleamed like rubies on Orys's sword. It seemed almost cruel, but Lyarra breathed deeply in relief.
The Targaryen pretender was dead; the war was finally over. Her husband the king was safe on the throne and their future son and his future sons will be kings for many years to come.
The dynasty of stags was at long last, secure.
Thank you Eduardo Aranha and Sage of Wind Dragons :) We have mostly resumed our normal routines and moving on with our lives. Not going to be an easy year, but hopefully it'll be better than last year!
What did you guys think of last week's episode?
