As the eighth day arrived, Griffith was seen shuffling out of the great sept of Baelor just as the sun rose over the horizon, red rays dancing across the water. Escorting him were two septons, Malero and Walder, each with a small bell in their hands. The city-dwellers had already begun filling the streets, going about their day, opening stores, and running errands. A few of them whispered words of prayer as they saw the pile of shining armour Griffith was burdened with.
Dorin smiled, the soon-to-be knight had done an impressive job getting the faith, and people of King's Landing on his side. More and more people began lining the streets as the bells rang with a beautiful concordance. Men wearing a random mismatch of armour began lining the street forming a barrier between the common folk and the procession of three. They were the boys and girls of Fleabottom sworn in fealty to Griffith, their heads held high with pride.
They soon reached the bottom of Aegon's hill where a small group of Stark men were waiting. They quickly surrounded Griffith, forming another layer of protection.
A frown contorted Dorins face as he saw the bloody footprints left in Griffith's wake. He was tempted to send someone to bandage his foot but knew it would disrupt the image they were creating.
The gates to the Red Keep were opened to Griffith and the Stark men but neither the septons nor his personal force was allowed to pass.