A/N: Sorry for the wait. Fuck, I'm terrible with deadlines. But special shout-out to War Sage for messaging me and motivating me to write 4,000 words in a single night.

Tyrion POV

Among the lords of the Vale were several of my companions from the high road; Ser Rodrik Cassel, pale from half-healed wound, stood with Ser Willas Wode beside him. Marillion the singer has appeared to have found a new wooden harp. I can see Bronn lounging in the rear of the hall, beneath a pillar. His black eyes fixed on me, while his hand lays lightly on the pommel of his sword.

"You wish to confess your crimes, we are told." Catelyn Stark speaks first.

"I do, my lady." I answer simply.

Lysa Arryn smiles at her sister. "The sky cells always break them. The gods can see them there, and there is no darkness to hide in." Catelyn says something to Lyss, but is paid no mind. "Say what you will, Imp." She commands of me.

"Where to begin? I am a vile little man, I confess it. My crimes and sins are beyond counting, my lords and ladies. I have lain with whores, not once but hundreds of times." I pause for a second to collect my thoughts. "When I was ten, I stuffed my uncle's boots with goat shit. When confronted with my crime, I blamed a squire. Poor boy was flogged, and I escaped justice. When I was twelve I milked my eel into a pot of turtle stew." Gasps from the ladies can be heard, as well as guffaws from the men. "I flogged the one-eyed snake, I skinned my sausage. I made the bald man cry into the turtle stew," I make a gesture of the action, "which I do believe my sister ate. At least I hope she did. I once brought a jackass and a honeycomb into a brothel-" I am interrupted by Lysa Arryn.

"What do you imagine you are doing, dwarf?" Her pale face had turned a burning pink. I cock my head to one side.

"Why, confessing my crimes, my lady." Catelyn Stark takes a step forward.

"You are accused of sending a hired knife to slay my son Bran in his bed, and of conspiring to murder Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King." I give her a helpless shrug.

"Those crimes I cannot confess, I fear. I know nothing of any murders." Lysa rises from her weirwood throne.

"I will not be made a mock of. You have had your little jape, Imp. I trust you enjoyed it. Take him back to the dungeon."

"Is this how justice is done in the Vale?" I all but roar at everyone inside this hall. "Does honor stop at the Bloody Gate? You accuse me of crimes, I deny them, so you throw me into an open cell to freeze and starve." I lift my head to show everybody the bruises on my face. "Where is the King's justice? Is the Eyrie not part of the Seven Kingdoms? I stand accused, you say. Very well. I demand a trial."

A low murmuring fills the High Hall. I know I have her where I want her now. I am highborn, the son of the most powerful Lord in the realm, the favorite uncle of the Crown Prince. I can see her small mouth twitch in a petulant smile.

"If you are tried and found guilty, you will pay with your life's blood. We keep no headsmen in the Eyrie, my lord of Lannister. Open the Moon Door."

The press of spectators part. A narrow weirwood door standing between two slender marble pillars, a crescent moon carved in the white wood. Those standing closest edged backward as a pair of guardsmen marches through. One man removed the heavy bronze bars; the second pulled the door inward. Their blue cloaks rise snapping from their shoulders, caught in the sudden gust of wind that came howling through the open door.

"Behold the King's justice." Lysa says. Torch flames flutter like pennons along the wall. "You want a trial, my lord of Lannister. Very well, a trial you shall have. My son will listen to whatever you say, and you shall hear his judgement. Then you may leave... by one door or the other."

She looks so pleased with herself, but small wonder why. How could a trial threaten her, when her weakling son is the Lord judge. I glance at the Moon Door before I turn back to her.

"I thank you, my good lady, but I see no need to trouble Lord Robert." I say as politely as possible for my situation. "The gods know of my innocence. I will have their verdict, not the judgement of men. I demand a trial by combat."

Laughter erupts in the hall. Lord Nestor Royce snorted, Ser Willas chuckled, Ser Lyn Corbray guffawed, and others threw back their heads and howled until tears ran down their faces. Even the wind seemed to whistle with derision. But I never look away from Lysa Arryn. I see her watery blue eyes fill with uncertainty. I have caught her off guard.

"You have that right." She tries to balance her voice.

A dozen men all spoke at once, clamoring to be heard. I find that disheartening to realize so many strangers are eager to kill me. Perhaps this was not such a clever plan after all. Lady Lysa raises her hand for silence.

"I thank you, my lords, for the honor you wish to give my fallen husband. No men in the Seven Kingdoms are as bold and true as the knights of the Vale, but sadly, I can only choose one to be given this honor." She gestures with her hand. "Ser Vardis Egen, you were my lord husband's good right hand. You shall be our champion."

"My lady," he speaks gravely, sinking to one knee, "pray give this burden to another, I have no taste for it. This man is no warrior, he is a dwarf, half my size and lame in the legs. It would be shameful to slaughter such a man and call it justice."

"I agree." The Lady of Arryn turns her glare to me as I speak.

"You demanded a trial by combat."

"And now I demand a champion, such as you have chosen for yourself. My brother Jaime and my nephew Draedon both would gladly take my part, I know." I smile inwardly at myself.

"Your precious Kingslayer is hundreds of leagues away from here, and the crown prince would not make the journey even if we sent him a letter, as from what I have heard, he is very distraught over the loss of his brother." What does she mean by that? Loss of his brother?

"What do you speak of? What has happened to my nephews?" Confusion litters my face and my voice as I speak. She grows a smug smile while Stark has a downtrodden expression.

"I suppose I forgot to tell you while you were in your cell, Prince Joffrey had unexpectedly died while you were being brought here. And, well, the crown prince has become quite reclusive since the funeral." Her smile has only become more prominent.

I am not upset because of Joffrey's death, I never really cared for him since he never treated me decently. But I am upset because Draedon is hurt and I'm not there to help him through this, like I promised him I would be when he was younger. I have to be there for him, I have to get out of here and make it to him.

"But none of this matters at the moment, as your trial will happen today. I suggest, my lord, that you find a champion or you will have to fight yourself." Satisfaction is plastered on her face.

The only thing that I can do is look around. No one moves to help me. For a long moment I wonder if this will be how I die. But then I hear something, stirring at the rear of the hall.

"I'll stand for the dwarf." Bronn calls out.

Draedon POV

I rather like my new appearance. I finally look presentable after days of restoration. Hard fought battles to untangle the knots that littered my hair. I nearly cried on one particularly bad knot that simply refused to leave its place upon my scalp. Myrcella did me a great favor and ripped that bastard out.

Pain. Pain is the only way to describe what I felt. But in the end, my hair is now back to its once proud state and my pain tolerance has now taken a leap towards amazing levels. And it made Myrcella smile, so that is always a good thing. I would rather not do it again unless absolutely necessary. It's a funny thing really; I would rather have to fight an army of bandits that want to kill me than have my little sister brush my hair.

Mother dislikes my beard as it makes me look more like my father than I usually do. But I like it, I feel like I look more mature now. People won't listen to a man that looks like a child.

I am still deeply saddened about Joffrey and his horrible demise. It still hurts but my other siblings need me to be my normal self. But until I can be my normal self, I will put on a happy persona and smile like nothing is wrong. And the ultimate test happens in just a few minutes; breaking my fast with my family.

My appearance is to my liking so I can be on my way to eat. My hair is combed and my beard is trimmed. I am wearing a gold doublet with black trimmings, black breeches, and black boots. Nothing fancy, but so much better than just a tunic. I am satisfied with my appearance and decide it is time to grace my family with presence. I look over to Ruby to find her still sleeping. I smile at her peaceful form and leave the room. Sandor looks at me and I nod for him to follow. He listens, as always.

As I begin my journey through the hallways, I think about recent events. My uncle Tyrion has been taken by Stark's wife for unknown reasons. Jaime confronted Lord Stark in the streets of Flea Bottom and completely slaughtered the gathered Northerners before he fled the city. Lord Stark was injured and had been asleep until yesterday. He awoke and was immediately in conversation with my father and mother. Father is now hunting in the Kingswood with a rather large party.

One thing I learned from the fight between Jaime and Stark; have adequate fighters on your side. Stark did not have many from what it appears. All I have is Sandor and Ruby, so perhaps I should invest in some sellswords or something along those lines. It is just extremely hard for me to trust other people with my life, especially people I have to pay. People are fickle, they will turn on you in an instance if they think it will save them or place them in a better position in life. Sandor wouldn't turn on me, I know that he is extremely loyal to me. And Ruby wouldn't turn on me, at least I don't think she would.

I make it to the room containing my remaining family. Sandor and I enter the room, not as quietly as I had hoped we would, and we are now officially being stared at. At least they appear happy to see us, or rather, they are happy to see me. I feel like they only accept Sandor because he will always be in my life.

I give a small smile at them and walk over to the table while Sandor stands guard by the door. I ruffle Tommen's shaggy blonde hair and he rewards me with a bright smile. I kiss Myrcella on the top of her head and she smiles a bright smile as well. I kiss my mother on her cheek as she reciprocates the affection with a smile. I sit at her side and see that I am late, as their plates are almost completely empty of food. I pour myself a cup of wine, and I do not need to look up to know that my mother is staring at me.

"Well what do you two plan to do today?" I ask my remaining siblings in hopes that mother will avert her gaze to anything else besides me. It doesn't work.

"Well I have needlework and then mother is going to give me my lessons personally." Myrcella spoke rather eagerly. I can see a spark in her eyes about it.

I nod at her and swallow my bite of bacon before responding. "Well it was always a great experience to learn from mother. She made learning fun unlike Pycelle. So what about you, Tommen?" I look towards my little brother, who has a somber expression marring his features.

"I have to go to lessons with Grand Maester Pycelle." I understand his face now. I can only nod at him once before I make eye contact with Sandor. He raises a brow to me, silently questioning what I plan to do.

I turn back to little Tommen, who has found a great interest in his plate. "Well how about after those lessons, you come find me and I will give you lessons in your duties as a Prince." His bright innocent green eyes peers up at me and they shine bright.

"Really? Like the lessons you gave Joffrey? I always wanted to learn them but he always told me that I was not old enough." He speaks quickly and I fake a smile for his behalf. But when he spoke his name, it brought up the memories from the lessons I gave to Joff when he was about Tommen's age. I have to fight to keep the tears from my eyes. I can only assume that my mother is aware of this fact by the next words she speaks.

"Well you two are finished breaking your fast, you both need to go prepare yourselves for your lessons today." They both mumble but bid their goodbyes and leave. I finish off the wine in my cup before I refill it once more. Mother just stares at me as I do this.

"Wait outside, dog." She states abruptly, but never taking her eyes off of me. Sandor looks to me for confirmation and I give him a nod. He steps out the door and stands guard outside of it. "Are you okay, Draedon?" Concern evident in her voice.

"I am just fine, mother. Why do you ask?" I take a drink of wine while she forms a response.

"You're drinking wine. You don't drink."

"Maybe I just started drinking. Is there something that you need, mother? Or do you enjoy my company so much that you kick your other children out just to be alone with me?" Sarcasm drips from my voice while I speak.

"You can take that fake smile off of your face and show me your true emotion." I maintain eye contact with her while I think about it. I mentally agree and do what she asks of me.

My face changes. Where there was once a small, fake, cheery smile, there is now a prominent scowl. My eyes change as well, back to lifeless and full of sorrow. My mother's face changes too, a worried expression replaces her signature scowl.

"You hide your ice behind warmth." She states. I scoff at her.

"That was a great observation, mother. I did not realize that about myself." I take another drink of my wine. She raises her impeccably sculpted eyebrow at my response.

"I give you life. I teach you what you need to know about life. I raise you to be a strong king and an even better man. I do all of these things for you, and you speak to me as if I am but a lowly servant. Fix your tone, Draedon." I can only look down and away from her when she finishes. She sighs heavily.

"I apologize, mother. I just don't know what to do about this. I am trying to be strong for Tommen and Myrcella's benefit, but I just can't be like I was before. I just can't be." I can't look at her while I speak, I can't see the disappointment in her eyes.

"Draedon, I know that you can't be the same as before. And it is completely understandable." I slowly turn towards her, blinking at her with hopeful eyes. She smiles slightly. "But you are right, they need you to be you. I understand it hurts you, it still hurts me as well, and I am not asking you to forget it. I am not. I am asking you to accept it and add it to your armor."

I cock my head to the side and stare at her confused. She chuckles at my stupefied face.

"Allow it to make you stronger. Accept it and allow it to harden you. By doing this, you will be more prepared for when you take the throne and rule as King. The realm needs a strong hand. But more importantly, your family needs you back. I have already lost one son, don't let me lose another one. Please." She stands from her chair and smoothens her ruby red dress. She walks towards the door and makes it about halfway there before I break.

"Mother." I call to her almost desperately.

I stand quickly and make my way to her. I wrap my arms around her securely when I make it to her. She almost immediately returns the gesture.

"I will get over this, mother. That I promise you. I am not going anywhere. I am going to get stronger, for you. Stronger for them. Stronger for me." I tighten my hug around her. "Thank you, mother. For everything. I love you." She can only smile the sweetest smile I have ever seen come across her face.

"I love you as well, my little cub." I smile as well, my first genuine smile since Joffrey's death. I leave the room and nod at Sandor to follow. He easily falls into step behind me. I have a new objective in my life: become whole again.

Alyssa POV

I like walking through Flea Bottom, just so I remember how far I have come. I see people having to work themselves to the bone just to survive and I can smile because I no longer have to do that.

My life is not as luxurious as some, but it is more so than most. I don't worry about the same things as I used to. All because of the Prince. I have thanked him many times for saving me but it is still not enough. So I was planning on giving him my most valuable possession; my body. But that same night the Prince's little brother died and the Prince that saved me, changed.

He became reclusive. Never leaving his room for any reason, except the funeral. He became quiet. He did not speak a single word to me no matter how many I spoke to him. He became hollow inside. He was just a shell of the man he once was. But now he has come back to his former glory. Not all of the way back, but enough for me to get excited about.

And that's the reason I am in the city right now. I want to personally collect, prepare, and deliver his dinner on this night. I will be preparing the Prince honeyed duck, roasted in a crust of garlic and herbs, with a salad of spinach, turnip greens, and chickpeas. Iced blueberries with sweet cream will also be on his table.

After I have collected all of the items that I plan to make tonight, I begin to head back to the giant fortress known as the Red Keep. As I am walking back, I fall behind two slow walking people in rather deep conversation. The man is disgusting looking, as if he hasn't bathed in a month. He has no hair on top of his head but the remaining hair on the sides and back hangs down to his shoulders. The hair he has is lathered in grease, I almost cringe just from the sight of the man. I can smell him from my spot several feet behind them.

The red haired woman, that is enjoying his company some how, is a plump woman. A portion of the city is begging and starving, but she most definitely is not. Her round face is full of craters. My brown eyes are the color of chocolate, where as her brown eyes are the same as deck boards on a ship. Nothing spectacular about them, just simply plain. I decide to listen to their deep conversation since I have to follow the stench of the man.

"Why did tha fat stag leave anyways?" The plump woman asks.

"To go to tha forest most like. He doesn't do well in confrontation, so when tha wolf went down because of the lion, he left." The dirty man states. The red haired woman has a thoughtful look on her face.

"What is he gonna do with that anyways?" She turns to look him in the eye. The man shrugs his shoulders.

"Who gives a shit. Not my problem." He throws his arm around the large woman. "He left tha wolf in charge while he is gone. So it is up to tha wolf to decide tha lion's fate." She scoffs at his movement but makes no attempt to remove his arm.

"Well tha lions should have nice quick deaths then." They both laugh heartily at her joke. It takes her a few moments to ask another question. "Wait, why did the fat stag leave the wolf in charge instead of his own blood?"

The greasy haired man just chuckles at her. "Didn't ya hear? The bastard has went mad with grief over tha little golden shit's death." The plump woman gasps.

"Really? That's great, another mad King. Maybe tha wolf should kill him too now." She shakes her head at that, in disbelief. The man laughs, while my anger is beginning to boil.

"I heard he has actually fed people to his lion just to make his suffering lessen." As if the Prince would do such a thing, I can only shake my head at this. "But fuck royalty right now, let's go home and find out if I can make you scre-" I tune out the rest of their conversation after that.

I can not believe that they think that of the Prince. He is entirely too kind to do anything such as that. The worst thing that he has done is kill a man who beat his wife, so I can not even comprehend their thought process. Of course he is upset about his brother's death, who wouldn't be? It was his first sibling he knew, and to go the way he did would hurt anyone. I just need to make it back to the kitchen and make him a great dinner on this night.

With that thought, I push my way past the disgusting couple and begin to walk faster back to the Red Keep. I hear their cries of indignation as I push past them, but my thoughts remaining on the Prince that has changed my life for the better.

Tommen POV

"We are going to go eat dinner. Just the two of us. Well the two of us and Ruby, but she does not speak much." Draedon smiles lightly when he says that. He looks younger when he smiles. I like it.

"What are we having for dinner, Draedon?" I ask with a smile on my face. I am happy that he wants to spend time with me. This has not happened since Joffrey died.

He looks down at me and tussles my hair, "We will be having a surprise, little brother. But do not fret, your belly will be full when you go to sleep on this night." I laugh at him mussing up my hair. He smiles at me and I feel happier for it, so I smile back.

We sit at the table in his room, not talking about anything important, waiting patiently for our food to be brought here. Ruby was resting from her hunt earlier in the day. She was lying down, her head and half of her body lying on the bed, while the other half was on top of a chest at the end of Draedon's bed. She looks so peaceful like that. Although, the bed looks to be straining against her weight.

The lessons Draedon has been teaching me the last few days have been very helpful. And unlike when Grand Maester Pycelle teaches me anything, Draedon makes it fun. He gives me sweets if I understand his lessons quickly or if I pay rapt attention. Which I should be paying attention to him now, but I never spend a bunch of time in his room, so I want to memorize every aspect of it.

"...a good prince should desire to be considered tranquil and not cruel." He takes a drink from his goblet.

"So Joffrey was not a good prince?" I ask him. He hesitates before he sets the goblet down and looks at me. He lets out a heavy breath.

"He was a good prince." He looks down at the table, a sad look on his face. "Once." He drains the rest of the goblet and refills it. I think that he has wine in his, while I have water.

"What do you mean by that?" He looks at me again before releasing another heavy breath.

"He was like you once. He was happy and kind. He used to love to meet everybody that he came across." He has not looked at me while he has spoken. He pauses the story and I wait for him to continue. He doesn't.

"Well what happened?" He doesn't speak for a while.

"I don't know, Tommen." He whispers to me. He clears his throat. "Mother became pregnant with Myrcella, and Joffrey became jealous. He didn't want to compete for the attention, I suppose." He takes another heavy breath. "He started becoming what you knew him to be." He is silent for a few moments. "But I never saw him like you did. Mainly because he never acted the way he acted towards you, towards me. We had our differences, don't think otherwise, but we also had a great relationship as well. We would have a dinner like this one that you and I are having right now, at least once a month."

"Every month?" I ask sadly. He nods his response, finally looking at me.

"Since he turned ten and two. You ask that as if you're sad about it, Tommen. Why?" He has a confused look on his face when he asks me.

"I do not know. Maybe because we do not do anything like that." He stares at me before he laughs. A loud laugh, one that I have not heard since Joffrey.

"Tommen, little brother, I do special things with each of you that I do not do with the others. I had dinner with Joffrey, I sing with Myrcella, I read to you. And when you get older, I will train with you. Which is something I have not done with anybody. You will be the first." His eyes have a small sparkle like they used to have.

"You don't read to Cella?" I ask softly. He chuckles a bit.

"No, Tommen. I do not read to Myrcella, and I haven't read to Joffrey since we were little. You are the only one that I roar like a lion for when I read about Loreon the Lion. I promise you that, little brother." He smiles at me, and I smile back so he knows that I'm happy with that.

He ruffles my hair and there is a knock on the door. He opens it to a dark haired woman I have never seen before. She has the food for dinner though, so she must be a servant. Draedon accepts the food and brings it over to the table. He smirks at me before he cuts into his piece of honeyed chicken and places it in his mouth. I follow his movements and begin to eat our dinner. Hopefully, the first of many.

Draedon POV

'The King has been injured severely.'

The words taunt me as I run to my father's room. I am breathing heavily as I weave through the halls to get to my father's side, not because I'm tired from running, but because I'm sick of being too weak to protect my family.

First, Jon Arryn dies. The man that I considered a grandfather to me dies. The man who taught me all of the sigils of my future bannermen dies. And I couldn't help him. I watched by his bedside as his life faded from his eyes.

Joffrey was the next to go. My little brother, who used to follow me around and mimic my movements, died. And I was nowhere to be found as a wolf, that I fought to save, ripped his throat out. I could only weep over his cold, bloody body.

Tyrion is being held prisoner and I have done nothing to free him. He is alone, in a cell, and I have done nothing. Stannis left and went back to the Stormlands, I can only assume because he knew. He knew that I wouldn't be able to help him if the need arose.

He was right in thinking that.

I can see the entourage standing outside his door. I smell a revolting smell as I near. A smell I know all too well by now.

The smell of death.

A blood covered Barristan is standing guard by his door, speaking to a shaking Renly. Renly, as well, is covered in blood. I slow from a run to a brisk walk as I approach them. As I am spotted by my father's hunting party, their faces change.

From the looks of horror of what occured comes the dawn of what I hate. I can see it in their beady, little eyes. The dawn of pity. Oh, how I loathe that fucking look.

I make it to my uncle and the elder knight. Their eyes meet mine and I know it is not good. My mind can only think of the worst scenarios. We stand quietly for a moment, before I ask the question that is burning in my mind.

"Is... Is he..." I can't even finish the thought. It's Barristan that answers.

"No, your grace. The King is still alive, for now." The last words were but a whisper from the Lord Commander.

"We tried to help but he ordered us not to intervene. He appeared to lose his footing and the boar took advantage, nephew." Renly says before he places his hand onto my shoulder, for comfort and support I suppose.

"I need to see him. Excuse me." I abruptly shake his hand off of my shoulder and walk past them, only to stop before I open the door. "A boar did this to him?"

Barristan nods solemnly, while Renly answers verbally. "Ironic, isn't it?"

I can only stare blankly at that statement. A fucking pig severely injured my father?

The stench that I smelled while on my travel here has only gotten worse the closer that I get to the door. My hand rests upon the handle, but I make no move to open the door. I can hear conversations coming from inside the room. I can pick out my mother's voice, as well as Varys and Pycelle. But not my father's voice, meaning one of two things; he's saving the strength to talk for importance, or he's already gone.

I'm terrified to find out which one it is.

The door creaks a little when I finally gather the courage to open it. The conversations cease quickly and all eyes fall on me. I ignore everyone except my father. He beckons me closer with his hand, so I kneel by his bed. I encase his hand with mine. It's cold and damp from sweat. With my free hand, I lift the blanket that covers him. I only wish I hadn't.

I can see where they tried to close him up, but it wasn't near enough. The boar had ripped him from his groin to his nipple with its tusks. The wine soaked bandages that were applied are already black with blood, but the smell. Gods, the smell. My stomach turns at the ungodly aroma. I let the blanket fall.

"Stinks," father says. "The stink of death, don't think I can't smell it. But trust me, I paid him back." The smile he wears as he says this is as terrible as his wound, his teeth red.

I can only nod. "That's what you always do to your enemies, father. You pay them back." My voice heavy with emotion. He tightens his grip on my hand.

"I remember when you were very young, you came down with a nasty fever. Your mother will remember." I look towards her, she smiles sadly and nods.

"Your little hand was so hot. Pycelle said you would not last the night." She turns to look at the old man, rather sharply. Father gets my attention with a horrible cough.

"Anyways, I went down to the Sept, and I prayed. Prayed that the Gods be merciful and take my life to give to you. I prayed to every single one, I prayed all night." I give him a drink of water when his voice begins to crack. "That walk back to the Keep was the longest of my life. When I finally went into your mother's room, and you were sleeping in her arms, your fever had broken. I knew then that my days were numbered. But to see you all grown up, I made the right choice. I'm sure of it."

I can't stop the tears that come. I don't even try. I can't think of anything to say before the door is opened once again. This time by Lord Stark. I turn to look at him, only to turn back to my father by his voice.

"Draedon, I know that I was a good father and that's my fault. Because you're a great son, and you made me proud of you everyday that I was here. It doesn't make up for anything and I should've said it more often, but I love you, son."

I hug him as the words leave his lips. It causes him pain and discomfort, I know, but he doesn't say a word about it. He just hugs me back. Tears streaming down my face as I bury my face into his shoulder.

"I love you." I say quietly to him. I release him and lean away from him. He smiles that red smile and I can't help but smile back.

"Sorry to cut this goodbye short, but I need to speak with Ned. Alone." I get the message and nod. I lead the way out of the room.

Followed by my mother, Pycelle, and Varys, we exit the room into the hallway. Pycelle lingered a little to hand father some Milk of the Poppy. As I stand there, I notice that Tommen and Myrcella are nowhere around. Mother must notice my confusion.

"They were here earlier, they are back in their rooms being watched by the white cloaks." I nod. It's in that instance that I abruptly turn away and take off, sprinting down the hallway. Mother calls out to me but I ignore her. I hear footsteps and armor clinking together behind me, so I know I'm being followed by somebody but I don't dare stop.

I run, as fast as I can through the conjoined halls. My long legs striding down them easily. Tears blur my vision, but I don't slow down one bit. I make through the Keep and out the doors. I slow down none as I embark through the city. One particular location in mind, a location I'm all too familiar with now.

I look a mess, I know. A towering man, crying his eyes out while sprinting through the city in a blood soaked doublet. I can feel the eyes of the commoners on me but I don't allow it to deter me. They move out of my path or they end up on the ground. I finally make it to where I'm going.

The stairs to the Great Sept of Baelor.

I race up the steps at a pace of three at a time. I burst through the mahogany doors with gold trim. There is not a soul inside this place besides myself. I approach the statues slowly, almost like one would a wild animal. I stand awkwardly for a few moments.

"I'm not a religious person, not one bit. I don't really know how to do this. Or even who to do this to." I look at each of the statues' faces. " Is it the Warrior I speak to? To you, I ask that you spare one of the greatest soldiers you'll ever meet. Or is the Mother I need to pray to? To ask you to leave one of your children here where he is needed. Or is it the Stranger? To ask you to release him from your clutches." I fall to my knees and bow my head.

"I don't worship you. Nor do I pray to you. I haven't since I was old enough to make my own decision regarding religion. I know that it is selfish for me to turn my back on you until I need something from you, but I have tried to be selfless for a long time so it's time for me to be a little selfish. I need him. I need him so much more than you do. Than any of you." Tears begin to slip again.

"So here I am, Draedon Baratheon, on my knees, begging you to spare him. The Crown Prince begging and pleading with you to let me keep him. If only for a few more years. You have already taken my brother, isn't that enough. Please." I keep my head bowed for a long time. Asking the Gods that I don't even believe in, to spare my father.

I don't know how long I am in that position, on my knees with my head low, but I know that it doesn't matter when I hear it. That fucking bell. It's notes burned forever in my memory. It can only mean one thing; death has come for the King.

As I begin to stand, i make it to one knee before my mind finally connects the weight of the situation with everything else surrounding it. My father is dead. I can hear his last words to me. See his bloody smile. Smell the death that was his wound. My stomach begins to turn just thinking about it again.

Then my mind races. And then the significance of the situation hits me. My father, the King is dead. Meaning the Crown Prince takes control of the throne. I'm the Crown Prince.

My turning stomach finally explodes. Releasing its contents all over this supposedly sacred ground. I can only drop forward and continue to regurgitate everything in my stomach, my arms being the only things to keep me from falling into my own vomit. My arms begin to get heavy from straining so much while having to hold myself up.

After I finish emptying what's left in my stomach, I use what's left of my strength to push myself to the side of the mess I made. I can only stare at the faces of the Gods who ignored my pleading and left me with such a burden. They stare back at me, mocking me. It's in this moment that I know.

There are no Gods.