Within the Great Sept of Baelor…
Bells tolled and rung loudly across King's Landing, lords and ladies have assembled in the capital to mourn.
Dressed in all black, King Daveth I Baratheon sat in a royal carriage currently en route to the Great Sept of Baelor to attend his grandfather Lord Tywin Lannister's funeral. The following weeks have been nothing but miserable for him; first his father died as a result of a hunting accident, then he executed his own mother for treason… now he learned his grandfather was assassinated. Frowning deeply, his hands gripped his knees so tightly his knuckles were slowly turning white. Sitting across from him in the royal carriage, Queen Sansa Stark donned an all-black dress adorned with raven feathers and a chain pendant necklace. Despite her pregnancy, the Wolf Queen was insistent on being there at the funeral; not just for Lord Tywin, but for Daveth's sake.
Sansa reached and placed her hand on Daveth's palms. "Dearest…" she motioned.
The Young Stag didn't look at her, but his grip somewhat lessened at Sansa's touch and his frowned somewhat dissipated even if it remained present. Perhaps that was some sort of conciliation.
"They killed him, Sansa. Qyburn, Bernadette did this," he told her. "My grandfather, my own blood… I'll have them all hanged for this outrage."
Sansa took his hands from his knees into her own. "I know. Lord Tywin's death took us all by surprise, but they won't get away with this heinous crime. For now you don't have to shoulder this burden alone. We're here for you. Me, Tommen, Lord Tyrion…"
Daveth shook his head. "I know, I know."
The Wolf Queen brushed her thumbs across Daveth's hands, momentarily bringing one hand back to bring it up to her mouth. Sansa felt another disgusting bile climb up her throat again, shuddering slightly as the sensation subsided. Daveth noticed, but said nothing as the cart came to a stop at the stairs.
"We're here, Your Grace," the rider announced.
The carriage door opened and Daveth stepped out, reaching his hand out to help Sansa down the steps. Behind them was another cart, unveiling Ser Barristan, Ser Lucius, Ariyana, Brienne, Tommen and Tyrion following close behind. As the Young Stag walked to the top of the stairs to the Great Sept of Baelor, he maintained a steady pace for his wife, brother, uncle and Kingsguard to keep up. Once or twice, Sansa had to stop as she experienced back and feet ache, sharply inhaling and exhaling whilst keeping one hand on her swollen belly. When the Wolf Queen was all right, the party resumed its march.
Mourners stood on both sides of the aisle, trading glances and quietly offering their condolences to the King. Daveth said nothing, even as he saw Lord Mace Tyrell and his children Ser Loras and Lady Margaery in their black attire wild gilded golden roses and vines stitched into them. Last time the Young Stag encountered the Knight of the Flowers, they were competitors in the Hand's Tourney, then became enemies during Renly's rebellion… now Loras bore a deep curved horizontal scar across his face—a gift from Daveth during the Battle of Blackwater Bay.
"Your Grace," the Tyrells curtsied.
"Hmm," Daveth responded.
Margaery Tyrell in particular quietly observed the Young Stag's steps, breaking contact as soon as Sansa Stark followed after him. At the final step, the High Septon Ollidor lowered his head in acknowledgement. "Your Grace, we are honored by your presence," he greeted. "The mourners are waiting to pay their respects to Lord Tywin."
"Then let's begin."
The High Septon motioned his hands forward, signaling the mourners to follow behind the King. One by one, they each ascended the steps and into the Sept itself. Once inside, the glass in the dome began to lighten with rainbows shimmering off the walls and floors and pillars, bathing Lord Tywin's corpse in a haze of many-colored light. The Silent Sisters had already tended and prepared the services for Tywin to be laid in state for visitors. As with the previous Hand, Tywin was pointed towards the statue of the Stranger, his hands clasped together over his chest clasping a sword pointing downwards. But Tywin's face had taken on a greenish tinge, and was donning a splendid gold-and-crimson armor; two funeral stones with green eyes painted on them with placed on Tywin's closed ones. Candles were lit and banners bearing the sigil of House Lannister surrounding the Seven aspect statues.
The septons were the first to see, when they returned for their dawn devotions. They sang their songs and prayed their prayers and wrinkled up their noses, and one of the Most Devout grew so faint he had to be helped from the sept. Shortly after, a flock of novices came swinging censers, and the air grew so thick with incense that the bier seemed cloaked in smoke. Although the smallfolk, lords and ladies admired the Oathkeeper King, they feared and despised Lord Tywin. Even in the Westerlands, the Old Lion had been more respected than beloved and King's Landing still carried on the memories of the Sack.
Once inside, Sansa Stark was flooded with memories of her father Eddard Stark's funeral two years ago. The funeral stones placed over the closed eyes of the deceased, each painted to resemble open eyes… Sansa closed her eyes, her breathing grew shallower. Ariyana and Brienne stood at her side, clasping her shoulders.
"You don't have to be here if you don't want to be," spoke Brienne.
Sansa shook her head. "No, I… I must. It's more for my husband's sake than it is for mine."
Ser Jaime Lannister, all in gold armor and white cloak, stood beside his father's bier amongst the candles and the crystals and the sickly sweet smell of death. Judging from his posture, Jaime had been standing guard over his father's body for quite some time; his back ached from the weight of his armor and his legs felt almost numb, shifting his stance a bit. Tyrion, meanwhile—despite having a cold antagonistic relationship with his father—still stood alongside his brother to pay his respects.
"He never wanted you to be a Kingsguard," the Imp told him. "You were his golden son."
No response came. Jaime had not slept. It was queer, but he felt no grief. Of all the mourners, Grand Maester Pycelle had seemed the most distraught. Varys and Randyll remained silent as Daveth made his approach to the bier.
"Our father worked to ensure he knew all of it was meant for us," Jaime finally spoke. "I remember. He knew it too. Made me memorize every damn city, town, mountain, lake, forest and mountain every single day until I got each one of them right."
Daveth looked at his grandfather's body. "Seven Kingdoms united in fear of Tywin Lannister," he spoke. "I might not have always agreed with some of his methods, but grandfather got results. I respected him for it."
"An odd definition of the word 'respect'," Jaime looked at Daveth.
"And I meant it. Grandfather taught us many things, especially the importance of working with one's rivals rather than destroy them. And what we must do to our enemies who seek to destroy us."
Jaime tilted his head towards the outer door, keeping his voice down to a minimum. "Look at all of them out there. They're our enemies now. As soon as they see the stones on your grandfather's eyes, they'll seek to tear us further apart."
Daveth detected a small hint in his uncle's voice. "And I won't let them… provided that we are not at each other's throats first."
Sansa looked at her husband and Jaime. Varys, Randyll, Tyrion and the Kingsguard also looked on at the Young Stag's quiet retaliatory tone directed at the Kingslayer. Apparently there was some lingering tension building between Daveth and Jaime since the execution of Cersei—and neither spoke to one another for quite some time.
"Divide and conquer is a strategy not always enacted on a battlefield. We use it at court too." The Young Stag brushed one hand atop Tywin's head. "You know, uncle… Grandfather repeatedly asked me to dismiss you from the Kingsguard."
Jaime blinked, as did the other Kingsguard knights. This was rather new to him.
"He tried to persuade me to leave as well. The day I came back," Jaime replied.
Daveth raised an eyebrow. "What did you tell him?" he asked.
"I told him I don't want Casterly Rock. I don't want a wife. I don't want children. Now it's my turn. What did he tell you?"
"I told him… if my uncle Jaime Lannister wanted to tear off the white cloak then it would have to be of his own volition, not by my command."
Sansa moved to speak. "Ser Jaime—"
When the doors were opened to the general public, the Tyrells were amongst the first to enter. Margaery had brought a great bouquet of golden roses and placed them ostentatiously at the foot of Lord Tywin's bier, but kept one back and held it beneath her nose as she took her seat. Margaery's ladies-in-waiting followed her example. Ser Loras Tyrell used the opportunity to approach Daveth, even as the other Kingsguard had their hands gripped on their sword grips considering the two were once enemies.
"It was such a deep, deep shock to us all," Loras said politely. "Your grandfather was a force to be reckoned with. He truly was. I wouldn't presume to claim to have known him as such, but just being in his presence was enough to make it so clear just how formidable a person you were dealing with. What a… what a force to be reckoned with."
Daveth rolled his eyes. "That he was, Ser Loras." He glanced across to see Varys motioning him over. "Excuse me. I have other matters to attend to."
The Young Stag walked away, leaving Sansa to tend to the visiting dignitaries—each of them expressing their condolences and remarking how the Wolf Queen was becoming more beautiful with each passing day.
"Deepest condolences, Your Grace," Pycelle said to Daveth. "This tragedy… Qyburn is arrogant, dangerous. I told them all…"
Daveth ignored the Grand Maester and pushed right past him, walking up towards Varys. "What is it, Varys?" he asked quietly.
"I know the timing itself is inappropriate," the eunuch whispered, "but my little birds have been whispering things into my ear. Calls have been made, and long owed favors collected. They tell me our contacts under the command of Ser Kevan Lannister have apprehended our missing friend and his lovely associate along Crackclaw Point trying to book passage across the Narrow Sea to Essos, though not without expecting a fierce struggle from both them and some of the locals; a bunch of sellswords, no less."
"And where are they now?"
"You will be pleased to know that they've found their way into the black cells. Under heavy guard."
"Good. I would like to see them," Daveth nodded, pleased. He looked across the Great Sept of Baelor, his eyes observing Sansa greeting mourners, paying tribute to Lord Tywin and kneeling to pray at the foot of the statue of the Crone with Shae. Tommen and Margaery interacting with one another…
Randyll approached the two. "We'll be keeping a close watch on the Queen. Make sure no harm comes to her."
Daveth's tense muscles relaxed for a moment. "Very well. See to it that she returns to the Red Keep once the funeral ends."
"At once, Your Grace."
As soon as the Master of Ships and Lord of Horn Hill leaves, Daveth returns his gaze towards Varys'. "Take me to them."
The Master of Whisperers quietly smuggled the Young Stag out of the Great Sept of Baelor, none suspecting or even realizing his disappearance. It wasn't until Ser Lucius Blackmyre scanned the crowd of mourners did the Old Bull suspect something.
"Where's the King?" he asked.
Apparently, Ser Lucius's voice was loud enough for Sansa to lift her head up and start searching the Great Sept of Baelor. Everywhere she looked, the Wolf Queen couldn't find Daveth. With Shae helping her to her feet, Sansa groaned and turned to Ser Barristan.
"Lord Commander," she asked, "go find the King. Please."
Barristan evidently noticed Daveth's disappearance as well. "At once, Your Grace." He nodded and left the Great Sept of Baelor, leaving all in attendance behind.
'Don't tell me that…'
At the Red Keep's dungeons…
He looked visibly tired, but it this was overdue. A debt needed to be repaid. Descending down the stairs and into the darkest depths of the Black Cells, Daveth observed Ser Ilyn Payne and Lady Reina Fishport standing guard over the recently captured Qyburn and Bernadette in a torch lit section beneath the Red Keep itself. Qyburn and Bernadette were chained to walls opposite of each other, both of them gagged, bloodied and bruised. The Young Stag examined each of them and determined that such physical injuries were sustained when Varys's spies caught them around Crackclaw Point. Understandably the region is full of bogs and pine trees not regularly travelled by outsiders.
Even so, Daveth stood face-to-face with his grandfather's killers. Bernadette he's known as his mother's handmaiden, but Qyburn was a mystery to him. Disgraced and stripped of his chain, the former maester was suggested by Pycelle as a threat.
Dropping to one knee, Daveth stared at Qyburn.
"I've been told that we had some difficulty catching the likes of you, old man. Not surprising, of course. You did find one gap in our security and exploited it. That one flaw allowed you to move in and out of King's Landing freely, but it also gave you the tool necessary to bring down the Hand of the King himself. My Hand, my grandfather. My blood."
Bernadette struggles against her restraints. Qyburn, bloodied and bruised, lifted his head as the Young Stag tilted his head towards Varys and Reina.
"Varys is the cleverest man I've ever known. Collectively the Spider controls more spies and informants than the rest of the world combined. Given his talent as Master of Whisperers, Varys is damn good at what he does and knows how to get results."
Varys said nothing; neither did Reina. They both know it is wise to remain silent whenever the Oathkeeper continued ranting.
"And Reina, here, is one of my best agents. Starting out as a mere commoner now elevated to the nobility as Lady of Summerhall, her mind's not only as sharp as a blade, but she also has good intuition and thinks on her feet. But I needn't tell you that. Luck eventually runs out."
Bernadette struggles against her restraints. Daveth noticed this as an act of defiance and ceased ranting; dropping his tone as cold, dark and serious.
"To believe yourselves capable of avoiding detection forever and elude justice was sheer careless on your part… The idea of such imbeciles running amok knows no limits." He turned to Bernadette. "You, a simple handmaiden in service to House Lannister, had a role to play in the assassination of your liege lord, my grandfather Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock. Hard to imagine that blind loyalty of yours could one of these days reveal you to be nothing but a mere turncoat. This must have been difficult for you. Then again I suppose that was how mother instructed you to be. I've tolerated you for years, but you've crossed the line in which there is no return."
Bernadette bit into her gag cloth, still acting defiant. Varys and Reina looked appalled at the disgraced handmaiden's behavior; but Daveth redirected his attention towards Qyburn.
"And you, Qyburn. A former maester expelled from the Citadel, stripped of your chain by the Archmaesters and banished from Oldtown for conducting your… unethical, illegal 'human experiments.' All for the sake of pursuing medical knowledge, am I right? You knew what you were doing was wrong, old man. Morally, ethically. You knew you shouldn't have crossed that line, but you did it anyway. I've tolerated you ever since mother took you under her charge and treated Ser Jaime's cuts during his time as Lord Randyll Tarly's prisoner during the war. But perhaps it was that significant oversight that gave you a sense of entitlement to do as you please in my presence," his voice broke in anger. "You took my grandfather! Why did you do that?! What could you have possibly hoped to gain from it?!"
Qyburn's gag remained, as Bernadette continued yanking her chain. Daveth took a moment to collect his wits before he acted on emotional impulse again.
"Doesn't matter now. Subtlety can only be used by those who know how to properly use it. In your hands, it's nothing but a one-sided tool."
"Your Grace…" Reina spoke. "They're both guilty, I know. But who better to face true judgment from the Gods themselves than the one who brandished the knife first before the one who gave the order?"
Varys and Ser Ilyn looked at Daveth; the Young Stag gave this thought before giving a slight nod. Bernadette appeared to understand what Reina words can possibly mean as she began to be more vocal despite the gag.
"Mhmph! Mmm-MMmm!" her voice muffled.
Daveth looked at her, raising an eyebrow with slight amusement. "Hmm? What's that now? You've got something to say?" he mocked. Shifting his position, Daveth moved towards Bernadette and brought his hand forward to stroke her hair. "Tell me: do you feel powerful now? Hmm? You both chose to murder my grandfather; must have made you felt quite powerful when you sunk your blade deep into his flesh. Does your future look bright when you look at me? Hmm?"
Bernadette shook her head to move it away, but Daveth roughly brought her face back to meet his gaze.
"I haven't slept very well since I was 8, you know. I often lie awake at night thinking about what the next scenario would possible be; whether on a battlefield or at court. When Balon Greyjoy rebelled, what is it you think I did to my enemies? I destroyed them. I made an example of them. Ever since I found you two had a role in Lord Tywin's demise, I thought about having Ser Illyn remove your head from your shoulders. It would be appropriate, I suppose, him being the King's Justice and all, but no, no, no. That would be too fast. I thought about having you tortured with nothing but the shadows to listen to your screams, but I'm not that cruel. The thought of being someone I'm not… no it's just not right!"
Bernadette's eyes widened and tried to speak through her gag but muffled when she saw Daveth unveiling a hidden knife from his sleeve. Pressing the tip of the weapon against her leg towards her groin, the Young Stag pressed hard and quickly pulled back—severing Bernadette's femoral artery. The cloth she bit down on muffled her screaming, eyes shut tight and took Varys and Reina by surprise; Ilyn, however, stared blankly at the sight of Bernadette bleeding. His thirst for vengeance still not satisfied, Daveth turned on Qyburn and brought his knife across the side of his neck, severing the common carotid artery. Both their chains jerked and pulled on their restraints. Daveth, meanwhile, cleaned off the knife and handed it over to Ser Ilyn Payne.
"A cut that deep across the carotid and femoral arteries are very serious," he explained. "You don't need to be a maester to figure out that an adult heart pumps blood at several liters per minute. Tell me, Reina. You've seen men in Flea Bottom have wounds from accidents like these before. How often does it take for them to bleed out?"
"Difficult to say," she mused. "I'd say in their current condition they'll lose consciousness in about 30 seconds."
"But death is certain?"
Reina nodded. "Oh yes, Your Grace. Quite certain. They'll be dead in about three minutes."
Daveth nodded before looking down at Qyburn and Bernadette. "Let this be a lesson to you both. You two will die here, in this cell. Once that is done your heads will be mounted on the Traitors' Walk to be used as a warning to any who'd dare go after me or my family like that again. Your bodies will rot, collapse to bone and dust. But until then you'll spend your final moments contemplating the choices you've made. Know that the Lannisters are not the only ones who pay their debts," He turned to Ser Ilyn. "Be sure to have this mess cleaned up by tomorrow morning, Ser Ilyn. Have your men prepare the wagons."
While both Bernadette and Qyburn's yanking on the chains slowly grew less frequent and the sounds of muffled voices were getting quieter, Varys and Reina uncomfortably followed Daveth from the dark cells. And through it all, as Daveth walks away from them both forever, his face grew the faintest possible smile.
'Choose to mess with my family or go anywhere near those I care about, then I'll make sure you wish you were never born.'
Chapter End
Author's Note: Quite a dark ending. An example from season 7, Daveth lets out his anger on those who wronged him again. Varys and Reina worry that the worst part of Cersei Lannister lives on through her firstborn son. Poetic revenge or is this another example of the Oathkeeper's darker side? But what of the people who noticed his disappearance earlier: Queen Sansa Stark, Ser Lucius Blackmyre and Ser Barristan Selmy? Think they could pull him out the darkness again like they did before? Thoughts? Let me know.
Also, be sure to stay tuned for the next chapter because it'll include some major hints if not a suspenseful cliffhanger involving Sansa Stark and Talisa. Care to take a guess (not that you really need to)?
Zurver: Can you add more Tommen into the story? Like make him as Daveth's little brother who learns so much from him and follows him everywhere
―I'll try.
Supremus85: Why didn't he let them talk?
―I think Daveth was at the point where he was just beyond giving a damn. All he saw at the time was red.
LazyShylock: If I was Daveth, I would have heard what the handmaiden and Qyburn had to say. It just seemed suspicious.
Morgan: I'm getting not only Cersei vibes from season 7 but I'm also getting Sansa vibes from when she killed Ramsey. That was a dark yet satisfying chapter.
RHatch89: Awesome update :)
―Thanks.
mpowers045: That was sick but awesome!
God of war: Will Cersei return to live by magic of red women
―No.
12345678910: I love it so much hoping you update again soon
10868letsgo: Amazing! Now that daveth is free from both of the pain and loss. Can't wait for more to come. Wonder how the mother of Dragons is going to react the death of the Old Lion and Mother of Madness?
―Word will no doubt spread to Essos. Daenerys would feel the need to mount an invasion, but Jon Connington would likely advise patience until she's actually prepared for such a task.
The Last Kenpachi: Holy shit. That was... wow.
ZabuzasGirl: They deserved this. As much as others may not approve Daveth did what he had to.
Wonderful!
Update immediately, please!