In the White Sword Tower…

Overseeing the large white weirwood table, Ariyana Dayne of the Kingsguard sat on the edge of the furniture—trading occasional glances out the window while polishing her family's ancestral longsword Dawn, brushing an oiled whetstone on each side of the blade. A trial by seven had just been declared, and each side was busy gathering their selective champions to fight on their behalf to determine the guilt or innocence of Queen Mother Cersei Lannister and Lord Protector Petyr Baelish. It had been a long time since she had to put her martial skills to work; and there had been murmurs surrounding her of whether the new Sword of the Morning would actually take part in the trial by seven and live up to her family's legacy. There hasn't been another since her uncle, the legendary Ser Arthur Dayne himself.

Tall and already renowned for her great beauty, Ariyana brushed a strand of her long dark hair behind her ear as she maintained a focus on her sword with violet eyes. In the past two years since arriving at King's Landing, she had to work hard to overcome a rather indignant stigma on account of her gender to earn the respect of her male peers. Looking up, Ariyana gazed upon the nearest mirror; clad in gold-enameled armor depicting seven silver swords encircling a golden crown and white cloak. And a noticeable pendant she wore around her neck bearing the sigil of House Dayne—a white sword and a falling star on a purple field. The Sword of the Morning placed the whetstone down onto the table and held the pendant in her hand. Ariyana gently closed her hand around it and held it close to her heart.

"Stars fall, we rise…" she spoke softly.

The pendant Ariyana wore around her neck was of more sentimental value rather than one of wealth. Indeed, it was all she had of her past life. Any momentary distraction was disturbed once Ariyana heard the door leading out of the White Sword Tower clicking and its hinges creak. She looked to see Lord Commander Barristan Selmy entering the room.

"Lord Commander," Ariyana stood in acknowledgment.

"Ariyana," Barristan replied. "I take it you've heard what had transpired?"

"There is to be a trial by seven; a very rare form of trial by combat though it's not without precedent. King Maegor the Cruel was challenged by the Faith Militant, and Ser Duncan the Tall by Aerion Brightflame."

Barristan nodded, impressed by his subordinate's knowledge.

"Has the King asked you to be one of his champions?" she asked.

"He has, yes," the old Kingsguard knight answered. "Ser Lucius, Brienne of Tarth and myself will take part. Horrid practice as it is."

"And what of the Kingslayer?"

Barristan raised an eyebrow. "Ser Jaime? He hasn't said a word to anyone yet, though his indecision only makes me question if he takes his vows seriously enough."

"King's blood or no, the man profaned his blade with the blood of the King he had sworn to defend," Ariyana scoffed. "Sometimes I wonder why His Grace ever chose to keep him on."

"Even so, it's still not our place. We swore to guard the King, not to judge him."

"And how many Kings came and went during your time, Lord Commander?"

"Long enough," he confessed. "All I ever wanted was to life a life of honor, to defend a King worthy of service. I burned away my years fighting for terrible Kings, yet a man of honor keeps his vows."

"Even if meant serving a drunk or madman?"

"Even so. I failed the past Kings I swore to protect, but I will not fail to protect this one."

"Because you believe this King is the one worthy of service?" she asked.

Barristan remained firm. "I trained Daveth myself since he was a boy. I might disagree with some of his methods, but I could tell he's learning from his past mistakes."

Ariyana rolled her eyes; this old man was stubborn and determined to continue his pledge. "And remind me, Lord Commander, how exactly did a knight of your stature end up becoming a Kingsguard?" she changed the subject.

Barristan shifted slightly. "I sought out and killed Maelys the Monstrous, last of the Blackfyre pretenders, during the War of the Ninepenny Kings," he explained. "Poor fool believed his Targaryen blood gave him a claim to the Iron Throne. I made sure his blood claimed nothing more than the dirt around his corpse on the Stepstones. The King at the time was Aegon of House Targaryen, the Fifth of His Name. He was the one who elevated me to his Kingsguard more than 42 years ago. Until the tragedy at Summerhall…"

"I heard the stories. The King tried to hatch ancient dragon eggs with sorcery and wildfire, only it ended with the deaths of himself, his heir, Ser Duncan the Tall and so many others."

"One of the many popular theories, though we still don't know how it happened. I still remember that day. I wasn't at King Aegon's side, nor could I have done anything to save him. I had hoped his son Aerys would be different, but he went mad after 20 years."

"Ah yes, the infamous Mad King. Aerys of House Targaryen, the Second of His Name. Even to this day Dorne still hasn't forgiven him for how he treated Princess Elia Martell," Ariyana shook her head, redirecting her attention to polishing Dawn.

Ser Barristan noted her disapproval, yet did not push. He did, however, notice the locket hanging around her neck. It was now his turn to change the subject. "A memento of yours?" he asked.

The Sword of the Morning blinked for a moment before recognizing that the Lord Commander was pointing towards the pendant she wore around her neck.

"It belonged to my mother," she answered. "It's all I have left of her."

Barristan was curious. "Were the two of you close?"

"I hardly remember her, Lord Commander. She died when I was very young. What's worse is that I have only faded memories of her."

"I'm sorry to hear that. What about your father?"

Ariyana shook her head. "I don't know. Probably dead."

"You said you were from Dorne. And that sigil… was Starfall your home?"

"Yes, though I grew up at Sunspear. Prince Doran Martell was kind enough to take me in after my uncle Ser Arthur Dayne died."

Barristan blinked and was taken aback. "Your uncle…? Then that means… you are Ashara Dayne's daughter?"

Ariyana looked at Barristan and nodded. "I am."

'Gods I thought she looked familiar. She looks just like her,' he thought. "I met your mother during Lord Whent's tourney at Harrenhal, during the Year of the False Spring."

"You did?" Ariyana did not know what else to say. "What was she like?"

He hesitated. "Perhaps it's not my place…"

"Tell me."

Even after all these years, Ser Barristan could still recall Ashara's smile, the sound of her laughter. He had only to close his eyes to see her, with her long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders and those haunting purple eyes. Ariyana has the same eyes.

But Ashara had thrown herself from the top of the Palestone Sword—the tallest tower in Starfall—onto the cliff atop the sea soon after she was informed of her brother Ser Arthur's demise at the hands of Eddard Stark at the Tower of Joy, mad with grief for the brother she had lost, the daughter she had unintentionally abandoned and perhaps for the man who had dishonored her at Harrenhal as well. Her body was never found. She died never knowing that Ser Barristan had loved her. But how could she? He was a knight of the Kingsguard, unable to marry, father children or inherit lands and titles. The girl he was promised to marry wed his cousin. No good could have come from telling Ashara his true feelings, yet no good came from silence either.

"Your mother… was a lady-in-waiting to Elia Martell," Barristan started. "A young maiden not long at court, she was renowned for her great beauty. Long hair—as dark as the night skies—and haunting violet eyes; Ashara Dayne was a woman so beautiful many men were infatuated with her. You look just like her."

"So I've been told, Lord Commander."

"She was a good woman, Ariyana. Your mother loved you unconditionally."

"But not enough to be there for me," she mused. "I guess it was my uncle's death that broke her."

Barristan thought deeply about what Ashara Dayne might have said to her daughter had she still lived to this day; but who could be certain. He merely watched Ariyana stood from the table, Dawn in her right hand and unsheathing a second Westerosi longsword in her left. Ariyana spun the two blades around in a fluid, circular motion before thrusting both swords forward—the tip of each one barely tapping against the mirror itself. The way she moved, Barristan reminisced how Ser Arthur Dayne himself practiced before a fight. The fighting styles were nearly identical.

"I suppose I should get moving," Ariyana said, making her way out the door.

Barristan watched her closely. "Where are you going?"

"I am the last of House Dayne, Lord Commander; the Sword of the Morning like my uncle Ser Arthur Dayne before me. And as a Kingsguard, my house dies with me. But only I will decide how it ends."

Barristan looked at Ariyana, noticing a fiery spark in her eyes was steadily growing into an ember. There was something in the stony Dornishmen that seemed to scream out.

"Tell His Grace King Daveth that I will be one of his champions," she requested.

In Daveth's chamber…

"I'm telling you, nephew, this is either bold or suicidal," Tyrion Lannister exclaimed.

Daveth Baratheon polished his Valyrian steel sword Stormbringer; his thoughts still focused on the upcoming trial by seven, the first to be invoked in nearly a century; the third overall. He merely sat down cleaning his blade whilst listening to his dwarf uncle making his thoughts plainly known.

Beside him was a wooden mannequin donning a newly unveiled set of unique plate armor of ornate design; jet black as the original, but offered more durability and flexibility without impeding the movements of the joints—particularly around the elbows and knees—a crimson red cloak and the sigil of a white-crowned gold stag on the breastplate. Atop the mannequin's head was a refined great antlered helmet, recently polished.

"Maybe it's a little of both," remarked the Young Stag. "Do you think me heartless? Cold, vicious, or cruel even?"

"No, but even I can tell that deep down you're still conflicted about this."

"You think I don't know that already?"

Tyrion set his goblet of wine down and approached Daveth, opting to sit beside him.

"I know how hard it's been on you these last few years," he said reassuringly. "Fair or unfair, you've had to carry a heavy burden on your shoulders alone and do what needed to be done for the sake of the Seven Kingdoms. To bring about change, enact a tough but fair justice system… blood ties or no, that's the kind of self-sacrifice that makes for a good ruler if it's any consolation."

Daveth shook his head. "Indeed, you really are terrible at consoling. Never thought ruling could taste so bitter."

"All right, how about the fact that this is actually happening?" Tyrion asked. "Playing the great game is a terrifying one, a very risky gamble with the fate of the realm hanging in the balance. You either win or you lose. The only people who aren't afraid of failure are madmen like the Mad King. Are you afraid?"

Daveth looked at his uncle, seemingly incensed at the question but somehow felt a sense of truth behind them. Begrudgingly, he nodded. "Do you know what bothers me most? I know what my own mother has been doing behind my back, what she's done. I'm not blind as to what she is, but Cersei Lannister… I know she's guilty, but she's still my mother. What good is the concept of family if the ones you look to for protection and comfort end up hurting you the most?"

Tyrion looks at his nephew. "And yet here I am."

"And yet here you are. Why choose to continue following me in spite of everything that's happened?"

"Daveth, let me tell you something that I had to figure out for myself. I've been a cynic for as long as I can remember. Everyone's always asking me to believe in things: family, gods, Kings, myself. It was often tempting until I saw where belief got people. So I said no thank you to belief."

Daveth furrowed his brow. "I'm… not sure I follow you."

Tyrion took a moment to explain. "When you faced off against Loras Tyrell and his massive force at the Blackwater Rush, you were both heavily outnumbered and had no good reason to believe you would've fended off a siege. In fact, it was a likely suicidal mission. But your men didn't seem to care even in the slightest, they followed you anyway. Your victory over the Iron Islands? All these noble houses: Lannister, Stark, Baratheon, Tully, Tyrell, Arryn… they all stood beside you ready to storm the darkest depths of the Seven hells and back."

The Young Stag said nothing as he further listened to Tyrion's counsel.

"Why? Because they believed in you, their King, just as I believe in you," he continued. "The people who follow you have seen that not only could you manage to acquire results and keep a promise, but you did so very quickly at your age. Maybe that alone gives them hope that you can make other impossible things happen. Build a world that's different from the one we've always known."

Daveth didn't know what to say. As confident as he was, even he had his moment of doubts sometimes. His eyes glanced to the floor as the door to his room opened. Daveth and Tyrion looked up to see Bronn entering.

"Ser Bronn," the Young Stag acknowledged. "What brings you here? I thought you were still recovering from your… incident at Flea Bottom."

"Your uncle invited me here," Bronn explained, ignoring the wince in his muscles.

Daveth looked at Bronn more closely, noticing the recent change in attire. Less of a common sellsword, more… nobly. "You have new clothes," he recognized.

The lowborn sellsword looked pleased. "Do you like 'em? Eh? Gloves are doeskin. Softer than a virgin's thighs. Courtesy of your dwarfish uncle."

Now Daveth was curious. "Tyrion," he raised an eyebrow, "what were you doing?"

Tyrion smirked. "I figured you could use something to cheer you up," he said. "So I had Bronn arrange increase a level of security in preparations for the trial. And in exchange—"

"I have a wedding to prepare for," he interrupted. "Once this whole mess blows over, I'm to wed that lass of yours Reina Fishport. My lonesome bachelor days are over."

'What the…?' Daveth thought speechless. "When did this happen?" he asked.

"Just last night."

"You do realize that she works for me, right?"

"If I wanted secrets, I'd marry the eunuch," Bronn countered. "Besides, I've heard from your uncle that she's not only beautiful, but has a pretty big castle and is quite rich too."

"Ahh… of course he'd say that," the Young Stag shook his head. "But why not come to me about it first?"

"You already have a lot on your mind, nephew," Tyrion pointed out. "A Lannister always pays his debts."

Daveth shot back quickly, "My mother's a Lannister."

Tyrion replied, almost as quickly, "And you are half-Lannister. That makes you one of us."

Daveth pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine, fine. I'll speak with Reina and smooth things over when this is done. But did you find anything else? Who mother plans on championing her?"

Tyrion and Bronn looked at each other, both of them looking equally nervous.

"Well?" he asked.

"Your mother's brought her seven champions already, one of 'em is the bloody Mountain," Bronn informed him.

'That only confirms my suspicions, but… perhaps this could work in our favor,' the King theorized, brushing his fingers across his chin. "Does the Mountain frighten you so much, Ser Bronn? After how he butchered your gold cloaks and almost killed you?"

Bronn shuddered. "I'd be a bloody fool if he didn't frighten me," he said. "He's freakish big and freakish strong and quicker than you'd expect for a man of that size."

"So you will not fight?" he pressed.

Bronn shook his head. "Don't get me wrong, Your Grace, I like your uncle and you both paid me a great deal of coin. I just like myself more."

"Disappointing, but… perhaps you won't have to."

Tyrion and Bronn looked at Daveth, curious as to what he meant. And with a snap of his fingers, both men looked to see Prince Oberyn Martell creeping up behind them.

"I imagine you'd be back at the brothel at this hour," Tyrion pointed out.

Oberyn shook his head. "I did spend some time with an absolutely stunning blonde the other day."

"He meant mother," explained Daveth.

"It was difficult for her to hide her disdain."

"Her impatience, short-sighted nature and inability to realize her own limitations are one of her greatest weaknesses. She's not as clever as she thinks she is."

Oberyn's next words surprised both Tyrion and Bronn. "I came here because of the offer your nephew promised. Not just to me, but to all of Dorne. You know, we met you and I. Many years ago."

Daveth looked at Tyrion. "You never told me that."

Tyrion looked confused. "If it did, then I would have remembered that."

"Unlikely. You had just been born," Oberyn shook his head. "Our father brought me and my sister Elia with him on a visit to Casterly Rock. My first time away from Dorne. I didn't like anything about the Rock. Not the food, not the weather, not your accents. Nothing. But the biggest disappointment…? You."

The familiar stab of embarrassment Tyrion Lannister had felt for years panged him, though he knew that he did not hide the pain as well as he did.

"You and my family have more in common than you might admit," he said.

Oberyn studied the Imp for a moment as Daveth traded glances between the two. "The whole way from Dorne all anyone talked about was the monster that had been born to Tywin Lannister. A head twice the size of his body, a tail between his legs, claws, one red eye, the privates of both a girl and a boy."

'Uncle…' Daveth thought, unable to comprehend what Tyrion must be feeling the more he heard; how the Imp's reaction would predictably entail.

"When we met your sister, she promised she would show you to us. Every day we would ask. Every day she would say, 'Soon.' Then she and your brother took us to your nursery and… she unveiled the freak," Oberyn paused to inspect the reactions he was receiving from Tyrion and Daveth, but didn't need to see their faces to know there were secrets hidden among them. "Your head was a bit large. Your arms and legs were a bit small, but no claw. No red eye. No tail between your legs. Just a tiny pink cock. We didn't try to hide our disappointment. 'That's not a monster,' I told Cersei, 'that's just a baby.' And she said, 'He killed my mother.' And she pinched your little cock so hard, I thought she might pull it off. Until your brother made her stop. 'It doesn't matter,' she told us. 'Everyone says he will die soon, I hope they are right; he should not have lived this long.'"

Daveth cringed at the mental image. He understood what his mother was and was shown to be everything he believed her to be, but hadn't even imagined that she would torture his own uncle that way at the time of his birth. Tears welled up in Tyrion's eyes; for all his earlier counseling, he seemed to be in need of consoling at the recollection of physical and mental abuse he endured for years.

"I… don't know what to say," the Young Stag spoke after a few moments.

"Your mother, Cersei… she always gets what she wants," Tyrion's voice cracked.

Daveth narrowed his eyes. "As do I."

"And what about what I want?" Oberyn narrowed his eyes. "Justice for my sister and her children. I want the justice you yourself had promised me. I want to bring those who have wronged me to justice."

"And I intend on keeping my word, Prince Oberyn," he said.

Oberyn stood from his seat and straightened his shoulders, making his stature seem much larger. "So now is the perfect time for doing so. I will begin with Ser Gregor Clegane, who killed my sister's children and then raped her with their blood still on his hands before killing her, too. I will be one of your champions."

Daveth looked at his Dornish Master of Laws, saying nothing but nodding his head in understanding. "Very well," he said. "But if you intend on fighting the Mountain, then you'll need all the help you can get. Like Maegor the Cruel did during the Faith Militant uprising 259 years ago, I will take part in the trial."

Tyrion's eyes widened in surprise. "You what? Your Grace, forgive me for saying it but when did you make this decision? If you win, that's fine and all. But if you lose? What will Tommen or Myrcella think? And what will Sansa think? Gods preserve me, she's the mother of your unborn child."

Daveth stood from his seat and examined his armor. "Psychological warfare, uncle. What better way than to use the enemy's own tactics against them? Besides, I have firsthand experience when it comes to dealing with Ser Gregor Clegane. And with certain assurances, the pendulum might swing our way."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then simply pray. Either way, I intend to see this through to the end."

Oberyn nodded and left the room to get ready. Slowly the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, yet still remained a very risky political gamble. Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Lucius Blackmyre, Brienne of Tarth, Ariyana Dayne, Prince Oberyn Martell, himself… all that remained was the one final key player; depending on his cooperation.

In the black cells…

"You took too long," Cersei's voice rang through Jaime's head. The Kingslayer ran his hands through his blonde hair as he was in the midst of a private argument with his disgraced twin sister.

"Tell me that you didn't do what I think you did," he sounded as if he was begging.

Cersei frowned deeply. "Since when did you care what you think I did?"

"I've never been with any other woman but you, Cersei. You know that. Why Lancel?"

"You took too long," the Golden Lioness repeated the words she used years ago.

Jaime glances over as Cersei walks right past him to bring in her and Petyr Baelish's assembled champions. Ser Lyn Corbray, Ser Morgarth, Ser Lothor Brune, Lester, Ser Lyonel Frey, Ser Addam Marbrand and the Mountain himself Ser Gregor Clegane.

"If you've come here seeking my favor, you're a bit late for that," she said coldly. "You were better, before you lost your wits at Highgarden. Ser Barristan, when he was young. Arthur Dayne was better, and Prince Rhaegar was a match for even him. Do not pirate at me about what you think you are entitled to."

She was tired of Jaime balking her. No one had ever balked her lord father. When Tywin Lannister spoke, men obeyed. When Cersei spoke, they felt free to counsel her, to contradict her, even refuse her. She would not suffer it, especially not from Jaime.

"A Lannister always pays her debts, brother," Cersei continued. "I will say and do whatever I need to insure the integrity of our house. And to dispel the court of the slanderous lies that polluted the mind of my 'son'."

Jaime couldn't believe his ears; no matter how hard he pressed for answers, or his attempts at pleading, he would get no further answers from Cersei. She noticed his bewildered face and approached him.

"Once I win the trial by seven and the charges are cleared, we'll all start off a clean slate again."

"Things will never be a clean slate again no matter the end scenario, Cersei," Jaime pointed out. "Look, I spoke with Daveth earlier. I reminded him that you are his mother just as much as he is your son. This has gotten way out of hand, and I advise that further acts of display shouldn't—"

Cersei frowned. "Oh, my son now heeds your counsel does he?" she accused daringly.

Cersei's intransigence frustrates Jaime. He's fought alongside Daveth on the battlefield and understands that whenever both his sister or nephew spot an objective, neither of them were willing to back down.

"You should have listened more when father spoke about the importance of gold and how gold win wars," she continued ranting. "Oh, I know it was boring for you. You just wanted to hunt and ride and fight. But I listened. I learned. And with the best of the best on my side, this whole farce will be easily swept aside."

Her champions mostly pretended to ignore Cersei's lecturers, except for Ser Addam Marbrand—who had recently begun questioning the mindset of his liege lord's only daughter. Ser Gregor Clegane, meanwhile, snorted loudly as he kept his arms folded.

"Cersei—" Jaime tried to speak up again.

She abruptly cut him off. "No one walks away from me. But if it's my favor you want again, then stand aside and pledge yourself to me. You could have anything you want."

"Cersei, I'm a Kingsguard," he pointed out. "No matter how much I really want to tear off the white cloak, a Kingsguard serves for life."

"Then it's an act of treason."

Jaime couldn't believe what he just heard. "Treason?! Cersei, have you lost your mind?!" he exclaimed bewildered.

Cersei's frowned further deepened. The words stung. 'You whispered kinder words to me at Greenstone, the night you planted Joff inside me,' she thought. "Disobeying your Queen's command. What would you call it?"

Jaime considers his response for a long beat, staring at his sister, his lover, his Queen. It soon became clear that he couldn't change her mind as well.

"It doesn't matter what I'd call it," he shook his head.

He turns to leave the black cells but finds that Ser Gregor Clegane moved directly in his way.

"Where do you think you're going, little man?" the Mountain's voice thundered.

Jaime looked up at the Mountain before noticing Cersei sneering at him. Ser Addam looked surprised.

"Your Grace—!" he called out.

"I told you no one walks away from me," she said again.

Jaime looked at his twin sister in disbelief. "Are you really going to order him to kill me? Is that how far you're really planning to go?"

"Ser Gregor."

The Mountain pulled out his greatsword, surprising all in attendance. Before the guards could call for reinforcements, Jaime kept his gaze focused on Cersei.

"Give the order then," he said simply.

He watches her and waits. The Mountain waits for a command from Cersei. She nods, the smallest possible nod. The Mountain draws his sword. Jaime stood there shocked, knowing there's no point fighting. Despite his superb talent with the sword, he knows he will be cut in half if he were to fight the Mountain by himself. He stares at his sister for a long beat.

"Mother has done things I never thought possible. She will be the end of you if you don't break free of her," Daveth's voice rang through Jaime's head. His faith in Cersei shattered, Jaime shook his head.

"I don't believe you," he spat in disgust before turning to Ser Gregor. "Get out of my damn way."

The Kingslayer forcibly shoved his way out of the black cells as more guards arrived to restore order. Jaime storms past the Mountain, who still made no move to stop him. Stunned at his decision, Cersei's eyes hinted a brief sense of sanity as she stared after her twin shocked, speechless, saddened and apparently angry at his abandonment of her. Jaime, meanwhile, kept walking forward and didn't look back. He did, however, notice Brienne apparently waiting for him.

"How long were you standing there?" he asked.

Brienne noticed the change in tone of Jaime's voice. "Long enough," she answered. "So what will be your decision, Ser Jaime?"

Jaime shut his eyes and shook his head. 'Family against family. Who would've thought the prospect tasted so bitter,' he thought. "Go tell him then. Tell my nephew that I'll be one of his seven champions."

Chapter End

Author's Note: And that's it guys; the seven champions representing the Iron Throne have been revealed. A bit of backstory between a few characters (i.e. Ariyana Dayne and Barristan Selmy), a bonding moment between Daveth Baratheon and Tyrion Lannister, the Young Stag announces his intention to enter the fray with his champions (no surprise Oberyn Martell enters himself in) as well as Jaime Lannister signifying his resignation from Cersei's entourage and his decision siding with his nephew. How do you guys think the trial by seven will turn out when shit hits the fan? Thoughts? Let me know.

Morgan: Hi. I certainly across your story two days ago and just finished today
Normally I don't care for OC baratheon stories but I am enjoying this one. Your OC is pretty interesting. He's three dimensional and complex, and I like that. I love his relationship with Sansa and the interactions he has with other characters. I am looking forward to the next couple of chapters. :)

xx. az. xx: I'm thinking of what Daveths daughter will be like. I'd think it'd be pretty cool if she were some super child genius/prodigy or something that invented stuff. Or maybe a renowned artist. Idk just definitely want something out of the norm. I remember a GOT fanfic that featured a child genius, just a shame bc I believe it hasn't updated since 2015 or 2016 and I forgot the name

ashley. crowley. 10: I want someone to sneak into her cell and just torture her but not kill just leave her in constant misery and pain I don't know cut some flesh from her cheek break her fingers pull her hair out from her scalp I really don't like Cersei

Murdough: Guess I'm the only one who caught the similarities between the speech Tyrion gives Daveth and the one Hackett gave Shepard in Mass Effect 3

chase manaena: this is such a great read cant wait for the next chapter please update as soon as you can please

RHatch89: Awesome update :)

―Thanks.

Moshi: Firstly, Aerys was Aegon V's grandson.

Secondly, how is Ariyana the last Dayne? What happened to Allyria and Edric?

Thirdly, wow, Cersei is delusional. No, she is no longer Queen, hasn't been since Daveth became King, she is the Dowager Queen. I want this Trial by Seven to end in flames for her (and Baelish). Then while she is ranting about how she is Queen, for someone to slap her and explain to her how shit really works.

―Some things are from the books, the rest is from the HBO show. Hence why there are a few characters included whilst others are not.

LunaEvanna Longbottom: Cersei really has lost her mind...

―It was only a matter of time, but yes, Cersei has really jumped off the deep end.

Hear My Fury: Okay, I normally don't really swear on reviews, but FUCK YEAH JAIME! Tell that cunt Cersei to shove it up her arrogant ass! Well done! Can't wait for the trial now!

―He should've done that a long time ago.

The Last Kenpachi: Is this the Westerosi equivalent of "Avengers Assemble"?

―I had to think about that for some time, but I could imagine that.

mpowers045: Boy she keeps forgetting that she's not a queen anymore since Daveth married Sansa anyway I hope they win as Oberyn finally got his revenge as well as Tyrion's

―Screw the "Mother of Madness" moniker, we need a "Mad Dowager Queen" for this one!

The Three Stoogies: a great chapter keep up the great work

―Thanks.

Jason Kreuger Myers: Tsk tsk tsk...

The man that he killed Lady Dayne, was no longer a King. He was a mad animal that was put down like the animal he was. Aerys himself was an Oathbreaker for BUTCHERING the Warden of the North and his Heir, slaughtering those without trial, savaging the land that he himself was meant to protect. ALl cause Eddard Stark was angered that Ser jaimie 'Stole his Kill' he was judged Kingslayer for it all cause of Jaimie's pride. So get the bigger picture before you stand in judgement.

AlexFalTon: Can't wait for the trial.

CoGDork: Aside from The Mountain, Cersei's team doesn't seem to have any genuine badasses on it. Daveth's team, on the other hand, is STACKED. And Oberyn only lost to the Mountain in canon because he wanted to use a confession to screw over Tywin and thus didn't kill Clegane when he had the chance; with Daveth on the throne, he'll have less of a need to do that, I think, and considering how effortlessly Oberyn beat Clegane when it was one-on-one, imagine how fast it'll go after the rest of the team casually swats aside the nobodies that make up the rest of Cersei's team...

RedRat8: How interesting. Barristan I can see since he's the commander of the Kingsguard and one of the finest Knight in the Seven Kingdoms. Ariyana was a bit of a surprise, but I suppose I can see her doing so as well as a Sword of Morning. Oberyn I totally expected, just hope he doesn't die. Brienne would have a stake in it I suppose when I think about it. I expected Daveth to join as well. Though I must say that Jaime was truly a surprise. I am not familiar with Lucius, that or my memory sucks.

Memnon45: Oh man your torturing me, I like how Daveth's champions have been picked. I can't wait to read when Cercei gets exactly what she deserves. Keep up the great work.

ZabuzasGirl: I'll say it once more Oberyn better keep it together or this trial by combat will be for nothing. He needs to be serious. The others will be. He's the only one we have to worry about not making it.

―I think it's one of the two reasons why Daveth chose to be part of the trial himself. Not only to inflict psychological warfare, but also to rein in Oberyn's hot-headed nature so it doesn't get him killed.