Sometime later
At that time, Jon, Isildur, Loras and Robar were soaring with Vhagar towards the Blackroot Vale; it was there they would meet the men of Dunharrow though he did not know if this gathering was for good or ill.
Alas, his thoughts were interrupted as Vhagar swooped low again before soaring skyward, doing great somersaults in the air. It seemed the old dragon had grown bored of the journey and thought it amusing to do all matter of acrobatics, hoping to frighten the other three on her back. Unfortunately, her efforts proved fruitful as Loras and Robar clung to him for dear life while Isildur gripped her spikes so tightly his hands turned near white.
Of course, Jon had tried to stop Vhagar's tricks, but the old dragon was having none of it and even spat out rings of flames only to dive through them in some show of pride.
At last, they passed over the White Mountains and came to the Vale. It made a great bay that beat up against the sheer southern faces of the mountains. Its steep slopes were grass grown, and far below they spotted the shapes of many homes. The vale was rich and many folk dwelt there.
Vhagar came to rest upon the vast fields with a great thud kicking up earth and trees. When at last came to a halt, the dragon bent her neck, allowing them to amble off.
"Finally..." said Robar sliding off Vhagar and landing hard on the grass, while Loras ambled off and then vomited his morning breakfast, eyeing the bronze dragon evilly.
"Damn lizard…I wish we came on Deathclaw," said Loras wiping bile from his lips.
Vhagar heard the insult and growled angrily, shooting a cloud of soot into Loras's face.
"Damn, Jon, can't you do something?" grumbled Isildur wiping soot and ash from his clothes.
"Enough, Vhagar…Leave them alone," growled Jon meeting his dragon's emerald eyes. She regarded him for a few moments before spitting out a jet of flame that he narrowly evaded, much to Vhagar's amusement, as she let out a grumbling laugh.
It seemed Vhagar had had her fun and curled up like some great cat, her emerald eyes shining in mischief.
"foolish lizard…" Jon grumbled, wiping the soot from his cloak and face.
"You must control this monstrosity, brother," said Loras, glancing at Vhagar resentfully.
"Perhaps we should have travelled on horse instead," said Isildur angrily. "Damned dragon is more concerned with its amusement than our lives."
"Why did we come all the way here?" lamented Robar angrily.
"You know well why we are here though I thought we would be doing something valourous rather than speaking with some Hillmen. I may sound a child again, but this lethargy bores me," said Loras, and Robar nodded in agreement.
"That's a frivolous excuse…" said Jon, spying the black stone in the distance.
"Silence Jon; although I don't favour acts of hubris, I know your friend's motives well. Do you recall when I retrieved the last sapling of Nimloth?" Isildur asked with a satisfied smile.
"Yes..." said Jon cheekily. "We know all the tales of triumph, my lord."
"As well you should, though now it seems you have a new one to tell wearing such a splendid cloak," said Isildur boldly; he smiled when he saw Jon's face redden.
"A cloak worthy of a Lord of the Noldor", said Robar enviously, knowing it to be a gift from Galadriel.
"Oh, if we all had beautiful women who could weave us fine clothes fit for Kings," said Loras cheekily, enjoying Jon's discomfiture.
"Let us just make it to the Hill, damned fools," grumbled Jon, and he set off towards the high hill where the stone lay his companions trailing behind.
After some time walking, they stood atop the hill, and there stood a black stone, round as a great globe, the height of a man, though its half was buried in the ground. Unearthly it looked, as though it had fallen from the sky, yet the truth was less remarkable it had been brought out of the ruin of Númenor and there set by his Lord to mark the treaty between Gondor and the men of the mountain.
They awaited the arrival of the Men of Dunharrow, yet the fools seemed keen to make them wait, and they all grew peckish. Fortunately, Galadriel had given one last gift before he left, cakes made of a meal that kept well for long journies.
"Lembas…" said Isildur, regarding the cakes eagerly.
"A gift from the Lady Galadriel..." said Jon as he broke off a crisp corner and nibbled at it, and soon he ate all the rest of the cake with relish.
"My Lady thought of me, but she didn't tell me not to share them…" said Jon before taking another small bite of his Lembas and then handing one each to his companions, who ate them swiftly, finding it more pleasant than any food made by Men.
"The legends are true…I am satisfied," Isildur said after taking a bite.
"Yes, this is the best bread I've ever tasted," Robar said, keeping his Lemba in its sheets.
"Mmm…I don't know, Lady Írimë's cakes are a fair bit of competition," said Loras, and Jon smiled.
"I hope they never ask me for an answer to Which one is tastier!" thought Jon in worry.
Jon, Loras, Robar and Isildur waited in silence for near half a day. Then just as the sun had crested the sky, he felt a shadow of fear drawing closer.
"Do you feel it?" Jon asked as they rose to their feet.
"Yes, they are coming…" Loras said with a frown.
They glanced towards the hills as little by little, a great host of men came on foot, and as they drew nearer, Jon got a better look at them.
The Men of the Mountains were short and swarthy folk men whose sires came more from the forgotten men who housed in the shadow of the hills in the Dark Years ere the coming of the Numenoreans; they were clad in dark leathers and animal fur; many carried great axes and swords near a two full ranga in length some bore spears and bows while others carried banners.
At the head was a man of great height who could only be their King. He was of fairer complexion than his people and wore a great black beard, although some silver strands were already visible; He was clad in a coat of gold-plated rings, with a silver hafted axe in a belt crusted with scarlet stones.
He was lesser in Lordliness than his overlord, though far more greedy it seemed, wearing a king's ransom in jewels. As they drew nearer to the stone, Jon turned to Isildur, who nodded. Then he raised his horn and blew, and its call smote the hills and echoed deeply in the mountains.
When these men heard the sound of the horn, many cowered or tried to hide, Jon was certain he saw one take aim at him, but the man swiftly dropped his arrow upon catching a glimpse of Vhagar not a dozen feet away.
"They're furious, but even they are not so foolish to try something with Vhagar near," thought Jon warily; as they came face to face with the men of Dunharrow.
"Greetings… King Rioc," said Isildur kindly; the king gave a slight bow though it was clear to all he did not wish to be here, eyes darting back and forth like a beast of the wilds cornered.
"Greetings, King Isildur, as you called us, we have come... What do you want from my people and me?" said Rioc while Isildur gazed at him in mistrust.
"The Lord of Mordor has begun his war against the Free Peoples... Therefore, I come to demand that you fulfil your oaths," answered Isildur proudly and the poor fool, despite his pride and dignity, seemed to want to hide not only for Vhagar but also from Isildur.
"No," said Rioc after a moment, taking a few steps back, glancing from Vhagar to Isildur fearfully.
"Repeat it..." said Isildur, his eyes alight with rage, his voice cold as a winter storm, and soon he was upon the man towering over him like a great hill.
"It is as I said. I know that we are breaking our oath, and had asked of me anything else, do not doubt that we would aid, but not with this," said Rioc with what little pride he could muster
"Is this your last word?... Are you going to break your oath?" asked Isildur.
"Yes, forgive me, but I may no defy my lord and master so brazenly," King Rioc said with some pity in his eyes while Loras approached furiously.
"TRAITORS!" The Knight of Flowers roared furiously, but Isildur raised his hand, bidding silence.
Isildur stepped forward, spat upon the ground, and spoke his voice bitter and terrible. "Thou shalt be the last king. And if the West prove mightier than thy Black Master, this curse I lay upon thee and thy folk: to rest never until your oath is fulfilled. For this war will last through years uncounted, and you shall be summoned once again ere the end."
Both the King of the Mountains and his people looked up in terror at the sky and then at Isildur and looked as if they were about to kneel and beg for forgiveness when a terrible bolt of lightning lit up the sky, revealing a great cloud shaped as an eagle, after which Vhagar who had heard all that was said rose up and let loose and thunderous roar and the Men of the Mountain fled in terror.
Jon felt two familiar presences that he had not felt in many: Lord Manwë, for none might have shaped the clouds nor called forth lightning save him, and the second was a presence that he did not expect for many years hence Lord Námo.
"It seems now more shall be punished for their misdeeds," thought Jon sadly, hoping perhaps foolishly that the men might have been spared.
It was then all about him changed still, he stood near the black stone, and all about him were the soldiery of Gondor led by three elves, a dwarf and a man who was likened to Elendil in splendour.
To that Stone, the Company came and halted in the dead of night. Then an elf stepped forward and gave the man a silver horn, and he blew upon it and it seemed to those that stood near that they heard a sound of answering horns, as if it was an echo in deep caves far away. No other sound they heard, and yet they were aware of a great host gathered all about the hill on which they stood; and a chill wind like the breath of ghosts came down from the mountains. But the man dismounted, and standing by the Stone, he cried in a great voice:
'Oathbreakers, why have ye come?'
It was then King Rioc came forth from the mist a mournful shadow whose eyes held sorrow of years uncounted 'To fulfil our oath and have peace.'
Then the man drew himself up and spoke with authority great as any lord of the west: 'The hour is come at last. Now I go to Pelargir upon Anduin, and ye shall come after me. And when all this land is clean of the servants of Sauron, I will hold the oath fulfilled, and ye shall have peace and depart forever. For I am Elessar, Isildur's heir of Gondor.'
And the vision ended suddenly, and he stood once more before the stone, watching as the men retreated into the hills, never to be seen for many Ages hence.
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Westeros (Oldtown, The Citadel)
Margaery, along with her mother and her cousins Alla, Elinor and Megga, as well as her friend Mía Forrester, were coming through the vast libraries of the Citadel, waiting for the return of several of the Acolytes and Maesters who were assigned to help them in their studying.
She and her mother had decided to go to the Citadel to ask for advice on the map they had found in Summerhall, and although her grandmother was not happy, she did not put up much resistance as there were far more pressing matters to attend to.
Upon arriving in Oldtown, they were received by Ser Moryn, one of their father's distant cousins, and taken to Hightower, where they had a cold reception from their uncle Baelor who limited himself to the proper courtesy, their grandfather and aunt Malora did not receive them which her mother had taken as an insult. However, it was not surprising as the last time her mother had come here, she had a terrible fight with her father concerning Jon.
Though the stony reunion was worth it when their grandfather allowed them entry to the Citadel, where they had sheltered now for several days, ever since they learned of the possible fate of her brother Loras and Jon, House Tyrell had been doing everything imaginable to find out about the island of Númenor.
But they hadn't found anything... The only thing they knew about that island was that it was curiously shaped like a star and the map spoke of a land called Middle earth.
They had first come to Oldtown hoping her grandfather knew something about Middle-earth or could even decipher the strange letters on the paper, but neither he nor her aunt Malora knew anything.
Even worse, her grandfather had fallen in love with the map, wanting to keep it to decipher its secrets, but her mother flatly refused, something that worried Margaery and her cousins as her mother had a somewhat stormy relationship with her Hightower kin... foolishly this storminess had started because of the care her mother and father had shown Jon.
Many years ago, her grandfather had held a great tournament in Oldtown attended by many knights of the Reach, Stormlands; even a few Dornish came. At this tourney, Jon had unhorsed her idiot cousins Hobber and Horas, as well as her uncles Baelor, Humfrey and Garth, after there at Jon's hands... they had taken to taunting him though no subtly asking him barbed questions and making jest about northern life.
Jon had endured it for their sake, but her mother was not pleased, so much that the latter part of their stay had devolved into a shouting match as her aunt, uncles, and grandfather had accused her mother of forsaking the faith so some wild bastard of the North.
As far as Margaery could remember since that visit, her mother has barely visited Oldtown, and Jon has never returned there, instead accompanying her Father to Arbor, Goldengrove or Horn Hill when necessary.
Fortunately, her mother had enough goodwill to be allowed in the Citadel though it seemed their search was in vain as they poured over yet another tome but once more, coming up short. Indeed, they were all starting to lose hope.
"Oh, by the Gods, I'm tired..." Mia complained, finishing reading a book and resting her head on it; of all the young women, she was the most unwilling to go to the Citadel, but the opportunity to bring home the man she loved had been promise enough for her to come.
"Yes, I am too... And the worst thing is that we haven't found anything," Megga complained.
"Keep looking; we can't give up..." said Alerie proudly, although the dark circles under her eyes betrayed her exhaustion.
"Right now, I wish I was like Lady Leonette touring the City accompanied by a handsome swordsman..." Megga groaned, and Margaery eyed Elinor, who had turned terribly red in anger; she had never cared for Leonette and often thought she should be the one to marry Garlan, Megga knew this and often teased her, but this wasn't needed now.
"I have no doubt that there is something here...But we don't know where to look..." Margaery said, looking at the vast towers of books.
"Perhaps because we have not searched correctly, my Ladies..." said a soft voice, and they all looked back and saw that a young man had arrived. He was slender, attractive and had a faint smile and spoke with a soft Dornish accent.
Alleras, The Sphinx as her foolish cousin called, was one of the Acolytes that the Archmaesters had assigned them to help them with the promise that he would be efficient and diligent, and he was just as they said, helping them with whatever they needed and so he had come again this time carrying a very large tome.
"Did you find something!" said Margaery happily, glancing at the large book the young man carried.
"You could say, my Lady, although it would be more appropriate to say that something found me," said Alleras, laughing, and they all glanced at him, perplexed.
"Explain, Sphinx", Alerie ordered, her eyes pleading.
"Here in the library, we have many more books than you think; some are kept for years or decades until they are finally assigned a place in the library, and we acolytes have this unpleasant task… I was taking some books to assign them a place when a strong wind from the West made this book fall on my head, and I almost lost consciousness," The acolyte growled, caressing her head, and they began to laugh.
"And what book is that?" asked Margaery.
"Well, to begin with... It's not a book, rather it's a diary," said Alleras hefting the largest journal any of them had ever seen.
"A diary?" Her mother asked, surprised, and the Sphinx smiled, placing the diary upon the table and opened it, they could see the strange letters of the map of Númenor on its leaves.
"Do you know what they say?" Margaery asked, and the acolyte shook his head.
"I'm afraid not; I only know that they are called Tengwar but whoever wrote this diary didn't explain how to read them..." said the man, unsatisfied.
"Do you know who wrote it?" Margaery asked curiously.
"Yes, Shiera Seastar's grandfather," said the Alleras to the confusion of all they hadn't thought to hear the name of a woman who had disappeared nearly a century ago.
"Shiera Seastar?" asked Alerie intrigued.
"We all forget that Shiera Seastar's mother, Serene, came from a family of noble but impoverished lineage of Valyrian origin and apparently Serenei's grandfather came from a distant land... An island far to the West..." Alleras said excitedly.
"Númenor..." Margaery said, pleased that her efforts had finally paid off.
"The westernmost of all the Mortal Realms… That's what that man called it. He was a noble sailor and captain who came to these shores by way of a mighty storm, ending up in Lys with the few men he had left and lived there for the rest of his days." Alleras said, clearly fascinated with the story.
"The Westernmost of all the mortal Realms?" said Alerie glancing at the diary.
"Yes, he also called it by other curious names, Westernesse, the Land of the Gift, The Land of the Star," said the sphinx.
"And how did he get to Lys?"..." Mira asked.
"According to his diary…He and his crew were fleeing from the King of their island…A tyrant named Ar-Sakalthôr… Marach's purpose was to live in a land called Middle-earth, in a city called Pelargir where others had also taken refuge..." said Alleras, turning the pages of the ancient journal.
"Do you know how to get to Numeror?" Margaery asked excitedly, but she was saddened when Alleras shook her head.
"I'm afraid it doesn't say anything about how to get there, which is a great shame because from the way that island is described… even the Freehold seem, but an assemblage of thatched huts," Alleras said confidently to the astonishment of the others.
"That sounds incredible," Elinor said excitedly.
"It's just a madman's raving..." responded Alla.
"It may be yet I do not think so about his native island or his life, but also it seems that in order not to forget anything about his life before Lys... He documented all the stories he knew, stories and stories of their people…They call them Numenoreans or the Mighty of the West," said Alleras frowning.
"…How presumptuous…" thought Margaery scornfully, wondering how these men would treat Jon.
After which Alleras told them many strange stories... About the God called Erú Ilúvatar and how the world was created thanks to a song.
Of beings created by Ilúvatar from his thoughts called the Ainur, named Valar and Maiar, it spoke of the great enemy whom they called Morgoth, who made war upon the Firstborn and Atani.
At the mention of that name, it felt as if the whole library were darkened and filled with cold at the name of Morgoth being spoken like a wound upon the world.
Upon hearing those terms, none knew what they meant, and the women looked at each other, baffled.
"What are the Firstborn?" asked Margaery, bewildered.
"And the Atani?" Megga asked, somewhat mocking.
"The diary only says that the Firstborn are the wisest, most beautiful and skilful of all the races and that they are immortal, but nothing more about the Atani; I'm sure it refers to us, mortal men," said Alleras thoughtfully.
Even though the diary was another disappointment, Margaery couldn't help but listen in fascination to the whole story, and one glance at her mother and cousins told her they were of the same mind.
"The last great story is that the island of Númenor was a gift to the men who fought against Morgoth and that they were given a longer life than the rest of the mortals... easily living three or four centuries," said Allaras closing the book and immediately Elinor started laughing.
"Acolyte, you don't believe a word of this, do you?" Elinor asked with tears in her eyes.
"And if it were, how would those men treat my dear wolf?… By the gods, if they are so great, they would use them as servants…" thought Margaery in horror.
"I don't know, my Lady, only that that man told many tales about his life and the island as well as other tales tis why the book is so large he was determined to remember his people despite their apparent misdeeds it's rather sad in a way," said Alleras.
"How did this diary get here?" asked Alerie, looking at the book in amazement.
"The people of Lys donated it after Shiera Seastar disappeared, they gave it as a gift to the Citadel, but the Maesters of that time didn't bother to organise it," said Alleras reproachfully.
"I would like to take it to Hightower and read it in peace," said Alerie, and the Acolyte merely shrugged.
"Nobody in the Citadel knows that this book exists, Lady Tyrell, so just make certain the Archmaester doesn't find out," said Alleras handing the book to Alerie, who took it in thanks.
"Thank you..." Her mother was going to say when suddenly the sounds of various war horns were heard, startling everyone.
"What's going on?" asked Alerie when suddenly Garlan burst in, plate clad, sword in hand.
"MOTHER!" yelled Garlan, running towards them.
"Garlan! Son, what's going on?" asked Alerie, terrified.
"An army is approaching the City... Uncle Baelor ordered me to take you and Margaery back to Hightower... But hurry, we don't have time," Garlan said, struggling to remain calm.
"An attack?... But who?... The Ironborn were defeated!" Margaery yelled in alarm, and Garlan seemed fearful.
"It's King Aegon," said Garlan, his face pale, eyes sufficed with fear.
"The king?" Alleras asked hastily, and Garlan nodded, apparently not caring who she was.
"Yes, my uncles are going to speak with the King now...Come with me, if you wish, young man, you can accompany us...Quickly" Garlan ordered, and Margaery nodded, and after making sure no one was looking, they hid the book and ran off, followed closely by Alleras, who wondered what was going on.
-------------------
They waited in Hightower for the last two days, but to Margaery, it felt as if centuries had passed. The sounds outside grew nearer; she heard laughter, shouted orders from men, women, and children, swords and shields shattering, and the neighing of horses.
They had sent ravens to Highgarden, informing her grandmother of what had happened, but no replies came, so there they sat in the Hightower, guarded by a handful of knights while the King took revenge for some slight against him and the journal that could have brought them closer to Jon and Loras lay forgotten amidst the carnage as none had the heart for reading now.
"I'm sorry, brother, and you too, Jon, forgive me, but it seems our reunion will have to wait a little longer…" thought Margaery in sadness.
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The battle lasted a day more, and when all was done, they were told to leave the Tower; about the city now hung many banners Baratheon, Targaryen, Martell even some Reachmen had clearly aided in the attack.
As they were led through the streets, Margaery saw hundreds of corpses of men and women of all ages; few were armed save for a crude club or farming implement, and most horrid of all were those with the seven-pointed star carved into their flesh, it seemed a massacre.
"But why? what was it all for had the king lost his senses." She thought," "Surely the Lords of the realm would not stand for this."
They, at last, came to a grand courtyard of the city where the nobles had gathered her family, being closest in kinship to the Hightowwrs, were given a spot of honour beside her grandfather and uncles. At the centre f the courtyard stood King Aegon, clad in black plate with sword in hand, glowering evilly at the Maesters chained at his feet. At his side stood his Kingsguard with Ser Barristan Selmy at their head; next to him was a Dornish who could be none other than Lord Yronwood, and next to him was Varys!
Margaery held her breath when she saw the Spider and Master of Whispers again next to the new King, who stepped forward, gazing at the Maesters in disgust; he cleaned the blood from his sword and cried aloud where all might hear him.
"People of Oldtown!... I am your King Aegon, the sixth of my name, and I come today to free you from the evil influence of these heretics...For many centuries the Order of the Masters has changed the history of the Seven Kingdoms. They have abused their knowledge and, believing themselves to be gods, have caused untold suffering," The King shouted to the crowd, who began to boo and spit upon the Maesters while Margaery and her family listened in astonishment.
"You have ruined everything! Centuries of planning and conspiring to make the world as we see it has been destroyed by your actions and your foul presence," spat Theobold, blood flying from his lips.
"And I should care about how you feel; why? Who are you to determine if a dragon lives or dies? Or if babies should be born from their mother's womb or be extinguished before they have a chance to breathe?" Who are you to determine the way things are run in the Seven Kingdoms? Who are you to decide anything beyond your own responsibilities in life?" Aegon roared at Theobold, who was now snarling like some angry, rabid old animal.
"Our Order has existed for this purpose! We gain and use the knowledge accumulated over the centuries to better protect the kingdoms of men. Kings come and go. Whether they make war or rule in peacetime, it doesn't matter. We are the cleverest minds in the world and know what it takes to keep the kingdoms stable regardless of who sits on the Iron Throne. We are the true power of the Seven Kingdoms. We decide which child lives and who dies because it is our right as men of knowledge", said Ebrose, clearly delirious as his compatriots looked at him as if he had just slain their mothers while the people recoiled in shock.
"No. You are not wise men. You are all blind fools and greedy rats toying with the lives of those whom you deem lesser for your foolish games, but no more I shall see your order stripped of all its possessions and all those who followed you brought to ruin," Aegon snarled cutting the head of one Maester before throwing the corpse before his fellows who shrieked and wailed in terror.
"In truth, most of their plans and schemes were trial and error. They were blind and could only manipulate certain things or events. Some events. Not all. The vast majority were all opportunities and experiments to test how things would develop if a child died at birth and the next child conceived by a Lord or King was a better candidate," spoke Varys in a honeyed tone, although something in his voice indicated that he was not glad.
"They have manipulated countless affairs, whispering in the ear of the Lords, poisoning and killing them, if not their wives. If the Lord in question was too loved and needed to be toppled from his position of power, they would target his heir or his wife. Then, when they were grieving, they whispered honeyed words of conquest or taking a new wife; new heirs are made while the firstborns die or are discarded by the new half-brothers or sisters. And in the meantime, the Masters would have positions of power within these Houses. They were even so bold as to funnel the wealth of those they served straight to the Citadel; most of the time, it was used in brothels and high-end establishments. Even those who serve more... discreet customers with less than... honourable tastes, even children, it seems." said Tyrion Lannister waddling out of the Citadel, a large ledger in hand.
The appearance of the Lord of Casterly Rock shocked many, yet more startling was the evidence he carried. There could be no denying their crimes now it was plain as day. It was then the guards had to hold back nearly a hundred peasants as they rushed to grab whatever weapons they could, hoping to slaughter the Maesters.
Apparently, these robed rats were crueller than she had imagined; they were mere playthings to these monstrous men; she then noticed that grandfather was holding back both Garlan and Baelor, who appeared ready to gut the fools like pigs; fortunately, it seemed there would be some justice today.
"It doesn't matter what you say, Targaryen! Your house shall be but another page in the history; we shall not be cast down by you inbred mongrels!" Archmaester Theobold declared as the crowd gasped at the foolishness of the man.
"You act as if you have the power to stop me. Your hired help here is dead. Your religious pawns and fellow rats you command to carry out the acts you desire are no more. All that remains and the greed that lies within their hearts," King Aegon replied.
"We may die here, dragon, but our efforts will continue one way or another when the final days come we shall be seen as heroes, and you, for the villain you are, oh, servant of the great enemy, our ranks shall be sufficed with new blood, and they shall cast you down in time!" Walgrave proclaimed as if it were some kind of prophecy, but the King began to laugh.
"Look around, you fool. Do you think the Maesters shall be loved by any house once they hear word of your misdeeds" said the King, his smile cold and cruel.
"People will never trust your brothers again like they did before. That trust was abused and spat upon, so the thought others may take up your hopeless cause is foolish indeed," Lord Tyrion and Walgrave lunged at him, madness in his eyes, but quick as lightning Barristan cut him in two, his guts spilling on the cobblestones.
"Enough; I think the crowd is getting impatient… Cut off their heads!" said Aegon as the Archmaesters began to wail and curse, and Margaery looked away, not having the heart for more death.
Notes:
Thanks to great_red