Chapter 46: Hail Caesar

"Hail to the King!"

When the first crowds had gathered shadowing and watching their procession through the Reach, the soldiers guarding Princess Alys and her husband grew tense. A loose marching column had been abandoned by the time they passed into the lower Westerlands and the insults began. An oval was arranged, surrounding her and Aegon in a protective wall. That proved useful to ward off some of the more brazen louts until a village about a day's ride from Lannisport. A city which… she knew did not hold fond feelings for House Targaryen.

"The dragonspawn emerges!"

"What's the matter, run out of sister's to fuck?!"

Aegon, enduring the gauntlet of insults all the way from the Reach with increasingly short temper and frayed tolerance, finally snapped. "Who said that?!"

"I did!" yelled at least a dozen throats, sparking jeering laughter among the smallfolk at his expense. "Is the dragonless prince gonna handle it, or run to his sister?"

"Egg, please don't," Alys murmured, tightening her hold on the reins. "Ser Brymon," she called to Aegon's personal sworn sword, the heir to the Crag and escort through the Westerlands. "Can we get the men moving."

"Listen to your woman, stripeling!" an unknown voice, this one a woman, called out. "Wee little princeling taking orders from mommy!" The jeers made Aegon shake.

Seeming to understand the seriousness of the situation - for every lout heaping jeers upon the King there were thrice as many burly farmers clutching crude weapons, ostly farm equipment, but ones that could easily unseat a man from his horse - Ser Brymon Westerling clicked his teeth. "We can move the men on the double. My Prince," he called to Aegon. "Let us leave this place and head for Casterly Rock." It was his wife that was under threat too, Jeyne serving as Alys' lady in waiting.

Egg turned to him with hard eyes. "I cannot show myself to cower before these dirty savages."

As if proving him right, a balding man with flies buzzing around him leapt down from a hill and pulled back his robe - revealing a sagging cock shrouded in unkempt, frizzy hair. "'Ere's a real cock for the Princess!" he bellowed, bearing rotted teeth in a grizzly leer. One of the mounted men-at-arms gave him a whack about the head with the shaft of his spear. The man collapsed to the ground, which seemed to roil the crowd.

Alys could feel it. This was about to get dangerous. "My love, these fools aren't worth it. Let us go…" Suddenly something hard smacked her in the face, causing her to yelp and nearly fall from her horse.

"Alys!" Egg called out, spurring his horse to her. "Are you alright…?" Then it was him that was hit, then Ser Brymon and Jeyne. Soon what had to be the entire crowd surrounding them began pelting the group with clods of dirt - harmless, but quite humiliating for the Targaryen Prince. Upon seeing that she was alright, Alys loving him even more for it, Aegon drew his sword. "I shall have their heads! Find the men doing this and bring them to me!"

"Find us, incestspawn! And bring yer' wife!" Another nameless voice. "I'll show her a real good time."

"Bring yer' sister too!"

"Targaryen whores!"

"Sinners!"

"The Stranger shall take you!"

Egg snarled. "Form ranks and charge! Kill them all!"

"No, Egg. Don't…"

"We must show them I won't cower."

"Excessive, your Grace, let us just go…" Ser Brymon was interrupted as hornblows sounded, joined by the rumble of galloping hooves.

A panicked shout rang out from the crowd as the fusilade slackened to an end. "Lord Lannister!" screamed a woman. "The Lord brings up his banners!" However much they hated the Targaryens, those of the region feared the name of Loren Lannister the most. He was beloved, but his sense of brutal justice was simply legendary. One act of misbehavior could lead to entire towns being leveled, and none wished to be around. Such a reputation proved a godsend for the embattled group, and they watched as the smallfolk scattered.

Sure enough, the heavily armored mounded knights riding under the fluttering golden lion arrived, warhorses shifting from a canter to a slower trot. Lances were held high, and at the van was… "Your Grace, it appears we arrived just in time."

Alys frowned at the person who greeted them. Unlike the others, his head was bare of helm and golden locks allowed to flow freely as he rode. "Ser Tyrion, a pleasure, though we had things under control."

A glittering smile filled with white teeth cast her way, Ser Tyrion Lannister was everything a proper Lannister Lord could call himself. Unlike Lord Loren's deceased elder son who proved himself an absolute coward in battle and took himself, there was no lack in boldness from Tyrion, though coupled with the narrow and foolish ambition of his Tully mother created someone… that unsettled Alys. "It is my pleasure to be of service to my Prince, though I can agree he would need no help in protecting his women."

"Enough of that flattery, Ser Tyrion," Aegon shot back, guiding his horse to meet right across from Tyrion's. "What are you doing here?"

"I have been sent to escort you to Casterly Rock. Yourself and your lovely wife," there was that look again from him that made Alys' skin crawl. "As well as my dear friend, Ser Brymon and his lovely wife." That drew a snort from Ser Brymon, the blush on Lady Jeyne's face likely the reason behind it. "My Lord father is keen on welcoming you."

Mayhaps it was his lechery - Alys had long heard from her father of Ser Tyrion's belief he was the Father's gift to women, and his rumored conquests had largely validated that theory. Jeyne Westerling had been a lover of his even as he was trying to seduce and court Princess Rhaena. Aye, his lechery had something to do with it, but that wasn't it that unsettled Alys.

So before Egg could respond, she spoke up. "Actually, Ser Tyrion, we were planning to visit Casterly Rock last on our journey. Our next stop is Castamere."

"Castamere?" Tyrion scowled slightly, while thankfully Egg went along with her lie. "Well, I should hope Lord Reyne grants you his leave. Would you still like an escort there?"

"That won't be necessary, and thank you," Egg replied. Soon enough, the Lannisters were gone. "You're right, Alys, I don't trust them either."

"A pompous stripeling, he is," huffed Ser Brymon. "The sooner we're in Castamere, the better."

"Right, on the double." As Alys moved to crack the reins, Egg rode to her side, grabbed her by the back of her neck, and pulled her into a deep kiss. "I promise you, Alys," he mumbled against her lips. "One day I will have a dragon and then all of these craven fools will face me properly." If the Princess didn't know better, she could've sworn it was Maegor that faced her, not the son of the kindly King Aenys.

She merely kissed him harder, wishing they were alone in the woods. Even against a tree would do.

"Where is Alysanne?!"

Maegor said nothing, and neither did his wife. The two of them stood in the midst of the King's solar - Murmison looked like he wished to melt into the floor, while both Brandon Snow, Grand Maester Gawen, and Gawen Corbray were made of sterner stuff. They looked uncomfortable nonetheless. "She's safe," the Prince finally answered.

Blinking, the frazzled Aenys - shocking, since he always put great care in his appearance - grabbed Maegor about the shoulders, squeezing tightly. "Where is she? And why would she be safe away from her father and home?!"

"Perhaps she is safe somewhere other than her home because her kepa wishes her to be enslaved by the Starry Sept." This time it was Rhaena that spoke, her voice filled with defiance. She knows not where Aly is. Maegor and Tyanna had it arranged perfectly, while only his sister Rhaenys truly knew where she had stashed both Alysanne and Arya Reed. Wherever it was, no one was going to find them.

Staring at his daughter for the longest time - it having been nearly a week since Alysanne's disappearance, since then neither of them having even been allowed out of the residential quarter of the Dragonpalace till Aenys summoned them that day - Aenys finally turned to the others. "Ser Gawen, are you sure that it was Arrax they noticed fly away from King's Landing?"

He bowed. "Your Grace, the description given by the shepherds can only describe the coloring of Princess Rhaenys' dragon."

Aenys trembled with anger. "My sister, she hates me."

"She hates your actions, not you, brother."

"Shut it!" Aenys bellowed. "And has my sister responded?" he asked of the Grand Maester.

"Aye, she has… a most uncouth letter to respond to your entreaties, one too profane to read though I may try if you wish."

"No, I get the gist of it." He rubbed his temples in frustration. "Can you find Alysanne without my sister, Snow?"

Maegor's onetime mentor cleared his throat. "My birds indicate she is anywhere north of the Neck, but otherwise… nothing."

"Any house that harbors her is committing treason against me!"

"Why? Because they realize she is better off free and in hiding than enslaved as a Septa?"

Aenys turned and leveled a finger against Rhaena. "You… you ungrateful… I do not believe my brother, you had a hand in this! Did you see what you have wrought? Riots across the Reach. The Poor Fellows calling to arms. Your brother assaulted by smallfolk outside Lannisport!"

Rhaena huffed. "They must've thought themselves so brave, pelting my brother with clods of dirt. Next time I shall be on my dragon, and see how brave they truly are then." Looking to Maegor, she reached to squeeze his hand before glancing back at Aenys. Maegor's heart began to beat quickly. Wife, please be reasonable… "Kepa, your actions are of a coward."

Aenys' eyes widened. "What did you say to me, daughter?"

"You heard me." Shocking even Maegor, she took a step forward. Both her uncle and her kepa were of similar height, Aenys far more slender compared to her muscular husband. As such, she stared up into his eyes as powerfully as if she were seven feet. "If you hold any bit of dragonblood, speak not of your daughter as an attempt to curry peace. Mount Quicksilver and fly to Oldtown and raize the Starry Sept to the ground. Turn the High Septon and his cabal into ash to farm the fields, or if you are too squeamish allow me to do it. I shall build a desert over Oldtown with the ash of the so-called faithful and call it peace."

Gods, Rhaena… Maegor felt a sudden surge of feelings as both him and his brother stared at her in stunned silence. Pride at her draconic boldness. Disappointment in her and Aenys for letting it come to this. Resigned to his brother's reaction. And quite… turned on by just how powerful his wife and niece looked and sounded in that moment.

For it wasn't Rhaena Targaryen, daughter of Alyssa and granddaughter of Queen Rhaenys. No, this was Rhaena Targaryen, granddaughter and successor to Visenya the Conqueror herself. All that was missing was the height.

Eventually though, Aenys managed to regain his composure. "How… how dare you speak to me in that manner. What gives you the right?"

"The fact that I am a dragon, daughter of a wyrm."

As Aenys gasped, Maegor stepped forward. "Brother… she didn't mean that…" Gripping Rhaena's shoulders, he found her standing strong. Not backing down. Oh, my love…

"Speak not to me, Maegor, this is as much your fault as it is hers." His fists clenched, never having been this enraged since the night their marriage had been discovered. "You two… are to go to Dragonstone with our mother. Stay there until I have use of you again, and if I hear even a report that Dreamfyre or Belarion are flying over the mainland you will be banished."

"You would do that to your daughter, brother, and grandson all for the sake of the High Septon?" Rhaena shook her head. "They are all right. You are weak."

Aenys snapped. "Get out! Get out of my sight, you ungrateful tramp!" he screamed, only for Rhaena to already walk out, black gown trailing behind her. "And you, leave me!" he snarled at Maegor.

The second son of Aegon the Conqueror tried to reason with his brother. "Aenys, you must understand, war is upon us and there is no further appeasement…"

"War may be your only strong suit, brother, but any danger we might be in is the cause of your decision to seduce and seed my daughter while married to the niece of the late High Septon. Kindly refrain from lecturing me on anything."

Maegor sighed, hanging his head. "You have doomed yourself, brother. I pray that you will survive the end of this… but say the word and I will be there."

"Go!" The Prince could only obey an order from his King.

The halls of the Starry Sept were deserted, strange for a bright day in which the light streamed through the windows. Murmison walked along the marble floor of the vestibule, gazing at the altar before the statue of the Father. At the intricate dome inlaid with the most brilliant of mosaics. What was a wonder of the world in the greatest city of the world.

One still standing unlike the great monuments to hedonism wiped out in the Doom of Valyria. The thought was an idle one as he appreciated the beauty of the Faith, but suddenly it seemed as if the Father's statue moved. Its eyes blinking and staring inquisitorially at the septon, forcing Murmison to stop.

"Traitor!" he bellowed. "Apostate!"

Murmison felt a cold sweat soaking his robes. "No, I am not…"

"You dare challenge your Father?" bellowed a shrill woman, the Crone emerging from her place behind him. "Serve not him yet serve the dragon?!"

"A vile beast, one that rapes his sisters and breeds with his nieces." The Maiden was beautiful but whose pure features were twisted in rage, teeth bared at Murmison. "Would you let them defile me as well."

"No… never… they wouldn't…"

"Still you defend them! Still you allow them to tear down everything!" The Smith, hammer slamming into the ground and smashing every window with the resulting tremor. Harsh orange flames began to lick into the building, ear-splitting roars of dragons outside causing Murmison to cover his ears. "Still you try to hide.

"You are no soldier of the Faith," the Warrior mused, voice gruff but disgusted. "A right coward, begging at the table for scraps from the sinners and dragonspawn instead of fighting. Fighting like your supposed comrades."

Murmison fell to the floor, hands covering his ears as he murmured for it all to stop… only to feel a comforting hand upon his shoulder. A sweet embrace, one that calmed him. "It is not too late, my child," spoke the Mother, her soft features cast in an unearthly glow of sunlight. "You are pure of heart, and thus can do what you must for us all. For your own immortal soul." Pulling back, the final piece of the Seven who were One approached him. Hood covering his face, the Stranger let out his hands, revealing a dagger. Blood coated it - dragonblood.

In the last moments before everything faded away, Murmison swore he saw Damon Morrigen underneath the cowl of the Stranger…

"Lord Hand."

Murmison woke from his slumber to find Ser Symond Crayne watching him at the door to his solar. He seemed to have fallen asleep at his desk, and thus his head throbbed. "Yes, Ser Symond?"

"His Grace wills you to the Iron Throne. Something major has come up." A pit formed in the Septon's stomach but he rose anyway, feeling how heavy his robes were. Ser Damon had been meeting with him constantly for the past several days, and the day before yesterday had presented him with a gift. A gift that weighed down his garments.

It brought shame to him, but what was truly more shameful?

Already, he could hear a great clatter from the outside. As if a wave of noise had settled over the capital. "What is going on?"

Ser Symond sighed. "Thousands… tens of thousands have gathered in the great square outside the Sept of Remembrance. We think they are pilgrims, but are not in a rather penitent mood. Wat of the Poor Fellows says he's keeping order, but I don't trust him."

"You… can always trust a man of the Faith to ensure discipline and good order."

"Forgive me, Lord Hand, but those men are more likely to war with us than obey. They don't have your loyalty."

"...begging at the table for scraps from the sinners and dragonspawn instead of fighting…"

The past weeks had seemed to age King Aenys - Murmison's old friend - near overnight. His silver hair was beginning to grow grey, deep lines on his face and a stubble poking out where he normally wore his skin bare. He sat upon the Iron Throne, pinching his brow. Around him were a smaller assortment of advisors than normally. Grand Maester Gawen was there, as were Master-at-Arms Marden Karstark and Ser Davos Darklyn of the Kingsguard.

And Prince Jaehaerys, finally let out of his confinement. Murmison eyed the boy warily, and the look was reciprocated with a glare of hate and defiance. Much like his uncle, that boy is. Unfortunate.

When spotting Murmison, it was as if the King's entire demeanor changed. "My good Murmison!" he beamed, rising and embracing the Septon. "They say that the Warrior Sons have mobilized the people to petition me. Is this true?"

Murmison blinked, but was saved by the Grand Maester. "They state they are a Holy Army sent to escort Princess Alysanne to the Starry Sept."

The King's face fell. "I do not have her to give."

"And if we did, we would never surrender her!" Jaehaerys proclaimed loudly, only to get a glare from his father.

"I let you out, but you will be quiet and respectful!" Jaehaerys glowered, but did as he was told. "What do I do, Murmison?"

"You must stay here and allow the Septon to handle things…" Ser Marden advised, only to be silenced by the King as much as Jaehaerys had been.

Watching Aenys' eyes focused on him, pleading desperately towards the last person he could trust, Murmison made a decision. Thinking of his dream, thinking of his oaths. There were no easy choices, but in the end there was only a right one. "You must seek peace as much as possible, your Grace. Septon Alfyn is reasonable, and with the authority to ensure the Warrior Sons and Poor Fellows abide by any agreement reached by the two of you." Such was… technically true.

Aenys nodded. "Then it is decided." He turned to his advisors. "I will meet with them myself in the Sept of Remembrance, guarded by my Kingsguard."

"Kepa! You can't!" yelled Jaehaerys.

"It is not safe, your Grace," Ser Marden echoed.

"It is perfectly safe," Murmison found himself saying, as if another had taken over his voice. "They would not harm a King."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you," Jaehaerys hissed.

The King knelt by his son, touching his shoulder. "My son… there is nothing more destructive than war and conflict. You might end up as the Hand to your brother or sister when they rule after me, so you must know that it is wisest to avoid conflict, to only use our house's words in the most dire of circumstances."

Jaehaerys didn't seem to agree with the words. "Rhaena was right, you are a coward." He stalked away before the King could further speak.

Sighing, Aenys turned to Murmison, resignation on his face. "Shall we then."

Father protect me…

Only the large rows of the Poor Fellows kept the crowd back. Highly disciplined shield bearers forced them away from the royal wheelhouse. "Who are these people, Murmison?" Aenys demanded, running a hand through his hair.

"Many have journeyed into the city, your Grace," Murmison replied. "They seek out a pilgrimage to the Sept of Remembrance, and to petition the Iron Throne for redress against the affronts to the Seven… or at least that is what they say."

He sighed. "Damn you, brother, damn you." Taking Alysanne had truly unleashed the Seven Hells upon the Realm. And now only he could stave off the coming collapse and war. "Let us go."

An immense roar heaped upon the King. Not the cheers of love that those of King's Landing gave him, but hate. Abuse, the vilest curses of the travelers that had swarmed the capital of Westeros. Aenys handled it with grace. Simply silent as he and his guards made their way to the Sept. Murmison leading.

"Your Grace," began Ser Damon Morrigen, who among a dozen Warrior's Sons and another twenty or so lords and knights ranging from the brothers Roxton, Lord Rupert Falwell, and Lord Prentys Tully. When did he show up? "The Lords Declarant have gathered to seek redress."

"What redress would you be interested in me, good Ser, for my time is little and I have much to do." His patience was wearing thin.

Damon was clearly the spokesman for all of them, so he spoke. "The disappearance of Princess Alysanne is unacceptable. She was to be delivered to the Starry Sept to begin her training as a septa, and his Holiness demands her presence immediately.

"Alright, is that all, Ser Damon?" Aenys asked, growing slightly annoyed. "I cannot tell you the whereabouts of my daughter for I do not know them."

"Isn't it quite difficult for us to fathom that the King of the Seven Kingdoms - a dragonrider of a great beast - cannot find a girl close to flowering? His own fucking daughter?" Septon Alfyn, arms folded behind his back, looked the picture of a steely anger. "By the grace of the Mother alive, are you so weak as you cannot even ensure that your daughter remains in the Dragonpalace?"

There was not much that could shock Aenys into a roiling rage, but this was it. Even still, he controlled himself. "You dare speak this way to me? I am your King."

"The only King is the Father, and my service is to the Seven who are One."

"Speak further words to your King and you will die," hissed Davos Darklyn, who with Ser Symond Crayne were ready to defend the honor of their King. As for the other armed men of the Warrior's Sons, they along with Qarl Corbray then placed their hands on the hilts of their blades - a tense standoff ensuing, with the King taking a step towards the Septon with an uncontrollable rage. Pushed to the limit that he was as the moment of peace was turning into further insults, upon his family and his own honor.

Murmison inserted himself between the two, even as Aenys took a step towards the defiant Alfyn. "My friends, beneath the watch of the Mother we must seek accord and unity. I beg of you."

"Yes," urged Prentys Tully, falling at the feet of the King. "Your Grace, I plead, ensure the safety of your Realm. End this madness, end the desires of such sinners within your household."

At the end of his tether, even for the King he couldn't look at such pleading with naught but disgust. "Get off me, Lord Prentys. You embarrass yourself."

Clearing his throat, Ser Damon motioned for the King to take a seat, in which he did upon the normal throne that the High Septon would rest upon during ceremonies in the Sept of Remembrance. "I believe what Lord Tully wishes to communicate is that unless Princess Alysanne is pressed into service to the gods, you must show the High Septon your devotion by disinheriting your daughter and her incestuous bastard born out of bigamy - then banish them and your brother out of Westeros for the remainder of their lives."

Aenys' eyes widened. Not even Mattheus or the High Septon himself had ever been so bold. "Are you threatening me, Ser Damon?"

"If you are asking if the result of refusal is war, then yes."

"Please, there must be no war." Murmison approached Aenys. "Please, your Grace, as your Hand I implore you to consider it."

"Consider what? That my daughter and my grandson are to be reduced to the stain of bastardy? No!" He announced, deciding for once in his life to throw the dice. To be bold and powerful. "Tell the High Septon that he must journey here and bend the knee to his King… and to swear an oath to recognize both Princess Rhaena and Prince Daemon as his future sovereigns." The die was cast, Rhaena designated his heir - the ravens would soon be dispatched, ensuring the world would know.

Before anyone could speak in response to his declaration, Lord Falwell surged forward and seized the folds of his garment, pulling it from his shoulder with both hands and near ripping the priceless purple fabric. "Men, do not dither! Do it!"

He stood alone, Aenys with his hand gripping the near-rended garment. "Are you mad?" he gaped. "This is violence!"

Time seemed to slow, the men within simply standing, near shock grappling them. Some fidgeted with their clothes and belts, while others were still as statues. Only Lord Falwell remained resolute. "Now, men!"

Before Aenys could rise, darting forward was Lord Horace Roxton, dagger drawn from his belt underneath the cape he wore and lunged for the King's neck. But still under forty namedays Aenys was a fit man and shifted quickly, crying out in pain as the dagger sliced a shallow cut along his shoulderblade. Confusion reigned as Aenys stood, grabbing at the Lord's hand. "Roxton, what are you doing?" he choked out in his shock.

Roxton found he couldn't wrench his grip from Aenys' hand, turning. "Brother! Help me!" Ser Lorence Roxton, a far stronger man and champion melee fighter, hurled himself at the King and buried the blade deep into Aenys' gut. This he felt, and the King gasped - it was like a punch to the stomach, knocking all wind out of him.

Soon would the true pain register, but by then a half-dozen, nay, a full dozen were upon him. Blades flashing in the candlelight and glittering colorful panoply from the stained glass windows.

Each man had planned a blow, long since having choreographed this act of daring murder and regicide. Aenys, hemmed in on all sides, tried to flee in the defiance of a dragon - but it was all for naught. Whichever way he turned confronting blows of weapons aimed at his face and eyes, each knifeblow drawing more blood, sapping away his strength. Moves of defense grew sluggish and then absent, the King barely able to keep upright.

Ser Damon, eyes alight with a sort of savage glee, stabbed him in the lungs.

Lord Prentys, squeamish but filled with the resolve of his pious wife, aimed for the kidneys.

Ser Morgan Hightower, his anger and jealousy of Prince Maegor driving him to seek recompense against the King, drove his blade through Aenys' groin - slicing through soft flesh and cutting against hard bone.

Still did he try to defend himself against the onslaught, jinking and weaving and darted this way and that. Harsh snarls were on his lips, determined to defy the attackers as a true Targaryen would - only now realizing that in his efforts to keep peace he had driven away all whom could protect him from death.

But then he stilled. Drenched in his own blood, limbs failing him but still upright by some miracle. Eyes blocked by the sticky crimson but nevertheless seeing what brought him to near tears. There was Murmison, body trembling but with a dagger in his hand just like all the others.

Unlike the others, it was clean. But there was no doubt as to his allegiances at the moment.

Unable to stand further, Aenys' legs gave out and he collapsed at the foot of the statue of the Stranger - as auspicious as anything. Against the pedestal he bled, shaking violently as his body tried in vein to keep itself warm. "Come on," Septon Alfyn remarked, his own robes once spotless now splattered red. "Go do it." He practically shoved Murmison forward. "Prove to the Gods your loyalty."

Nodding, trembling violently, Murmison knelt. Meeting Aenys' eyes. "You too, my friend?" Aenys gaped out, reaching up to clasp the shoulder of the man he had known since childhood. Whom had been his tutor, his friend, his spiritual advisor, and now his Hand. Quivering from a multitude of wounds, but still feeling the sting of betrayal above all…

And then Murmison plunged the final dagger. Delivered the final blow between his ribs and impaling on his heart.

So it was. In that moment he knew his death was upon him. Allowing himself to fall to the floor, Aenys used the last bit of strength to pull his royal robe over his head. Shrouding his face with purple and crimson. In the distance, he could've sworn he saw his father, arm in arm with a beautiful woman with silver hair.

His mother.

Such a pleasant sight that he would so eagerly join as the whiteness enveloped him, but one last thought passed. Daughter… brother… bring…

"Fire and Blood."

And then it was over.

"How fuckin' long we've been standin' 'ere with our dicks in our hands?" asked a grimy man wearing naught but a filthy tunic. "Dragon should come out by now."

"Give the incest fuck time," snarled his companion, less filthy but uglier, teeth practically rotted away. "Fuckin' bastard, he's the reason the Seven hate us."

"Dragonspawn! Come out and die!" yelled a man-at-arms… or hedge knight. Could be either honestly.

Sword hidden under his cloak, Marden Karstark kept his hand upon it just in case. "We should leave here," he muttered to his companion.

Unlike Marden, whose red hair and gruff features didn't loan him a look that would be out of place in the midst of this crowd of pious pilgrims - though of the warlike type than the penitent one - Prince Jaehaerys was a different story. His cloak was tighter about him, cowl deep over his face to hide any strand of silver hair. "We must not leave until my father emerges."

"What do you think you can accomplish, young one?" the master-at-arms and mentor to Jaehaerys asked. "You have only the sword at your hip and my sword." Jaehaerys had no answer to that. I must be here. Something was drawing him here in this crowd of malcontents and traitors, watching the facade of the Sept of Remembrance from a great distance away as if it would burst into flames at any moment…

Suddenly though, the doors burst open. Revealing the triumphant swagger of Ser Damon Morrigen. Behind him were dozens of others, including Septon Murmison practically shuffling out. There was no sign of his father, nor the Kingsguard.

Each man carried a bloody dagger.

Ser Marden seemed to understand and tugged at his protege's hand. "We must go."

"No, I wish to see."

"Come on!" Marden tugged him, but Jaehaerys kept his head turned and upon the Sept even as he hurried away. Able to hear Morrigen's voice booming across the eerily silent crowd.

"Faithful!" he proclaimed. "Today, the day of reckoning has arrived! The age of the dragons, whom have wreathed this holy land in fire and polluted it with their incestuous spawn, is reaching the twilight. Soon none of the Valyrians will remain!" The Poor Fellows slammed their spears on the cobblestones in a frightful clatter, which felt to Jaehaerys as a hammer upon his chest. Kepa… kepa where are you?

The worst was clear, as Marden grasped. "Let's go! Back to the Dragonpalace." Harshly whispered, heading straight for their horses.

Morrigen continued, Septon Alfyn and Murmison on either side - the former triumphant while the latter wilted. "What the Seven began with the Doom of Valyria, we shall finish! Behold, the fate of all the incestuous tyrants!" From behind him, Morrigen hoisted a severed head held by bloody strands of silver hair.

Jaehaerys let out a silent gasp, hot tears burning at his eyes.

"The dragonspawn King, King Abomination!" The head of Aenys Targaryen, brutally beheaded and on display for the crowd. "Death to the Dragons!"

Kepa no…!

The roar shook the entire city. "DEATH TO THE DRAGONS!"