Rhaenys watched as the large doors to the throne room swung open, and four men led a chained Harrold Hayford towards the Iron Throne. Hayford looked gaunt and beaten, his clothes hanging loosely on his frail frame. His face was a mess of bruises and cuts, his eyes hollow and filled with despair.
The throne room was packed with courtiers, their colorful attire and jeweled accessories creating a striking contrast against the grim spectacle unfolding before them. The high vaulted ceilings echoed the hushed whispers of the gathered nobility and the imposing Iron Throne, forged from a thousand surrendered swords, dominated the room with its ominous presence.
She noted that some courtiers assembled looked worried, especially those from the royalist faction. They exchanged anxious glances, their faces pale. In stark contrast, others appeared delighted, particularly Jon Arryn, who stood by the Hand of the King below the Iron Throne, his expression one of grim satisfaction.
Her gaze turned to her father, who sat on the Iron Throne. He looked more tired these days, the lines under his eyes deeper, his form slouched as if the weight of the realm was physically bearing down on him.
Rhaenys then glanced to where Aegon was standing. He was surrounded by lords from the Reach, Westerlands, and surprisingly, some from the Stormlands. Joffrey Lannister was there as well, whispering something into Aegon's ear. The young prince's face was a mask of neutrality, though the occasional flicker of uncertainty crossed his features as he listened to Joffrey's words.
She looked around for Maekar but could not find him among the gathered courtiers and lords. The thought of her younger brother brought memories of their previous encounter to her mind. He had so blatantly confessed his treason to her, how he coveted the Iron Throne.
'Was I right to judge him,' she wondered, as she herself harbored ambitions to be queen.
He had offered to work together, to combine their claims and take the throne together. 'It would be easier,' a voice in her head said, tempting her.
"Where is Maekar?" she heard Arianne say, breaking her out of her thoughts.
"He is not here," she replied, her gaze still searching the room.
"He should be here," Arianne said in a low voice.
Arianne was right. Maekar was supposed to be here. This was supposed to be his moment of triumph.
Her attention returned to the center of the throne room as Harrold Hayford was brought forward and thrown to the ground. The sound of his chains clinking echoed through the silent hall. Hayford looked up to her father with desperation etched across his face.
"Mercy, Your Grace!" he begged, his voice hoarse and filled with fear. "I beg for mercy!"
"Shut your mouth, scum," Jon Connington commanded, his voice cold and firm.
Rhaenys couldn't help but sneer inwardly at the Hand's sudden display of authority. 'Oh, now the Hand finds his voice,' she thought sarcastically.
"Lord Harrold Hayford," her father said, his voice echoing through the throne room.
He then turned to Jon Arryn.
"Lord Arryn read the charges" he ordered.
Jon Arryn stepped forward, unrolling a parchment. His voice was stern and clear as he read the charges:
"Lord Harrold Hayford, you are charged with the following crimes:
Embezzlement of funds from the city treasury.
Corruption and bribery within the City Watch, accepting payments for preferential treatment and protection.
Extortion of merchants and smallfolk, demanding money and goods in exchange for safety.
Abuse of power, unlawfully imprisoning and executing those who opposed you.
Conspiracy against the Crown, plotting to undermine the authority of the king and the royal family.
The abduction of Princess Rhaenys and Princess Arianne Martell, endangering their lives and causing distress to the realm.
Murder and assault, ordering the killing of loyal guards and knights during the abduction.
Treason against the Crown, betraying your sworn duty to protect and serve the realm and its people."
The courtiers listened in stunned silence as the charges were read, their faces reflecting a mix of shock and outrage. Hayford's expression shifted from desperation to defiance as he listened, his eyes burning with a manic intensity.
Her father's gaze remained fixed on Hayford, unyielding and stern. "What say you?" he added, his tone carrying the weight of judgment.
"Not guilty!" Hayford screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. The court erupted in murmurs of shock and bewilderment.
"He has truly lost his mind," Obara whispered from Rhaenys's side.
"Yes," Rhaenys replied softly, her eyes fixed on the pitiful figure before the throne.
Hayford's eyes darted around the room, his expression frantic. "This is all a conspiracy!" he shouted, pointing a trembling finger at Jon Arryn. "Prince Maekar and Jon Arryn have plotted against me! They forced me to abduct the princesses!"
The courtiers gasped, and the murmurs grew louder. Hayford's face twisted with manic energy as he continued his tirade. "Prince Maekar has been after my position from the start! He created the Fire Watch to undermine me, planting false evidence and turning everyone against me! Jon Arryn is in on it too! They want me gone so they can seize power for themselves!"
Hayford's accusations grew wilder, his voice rising in pitch. "They framed me! They made me look like a traitor! But I am loyal! I am loyal to the king! This is all a plot to destroy me!"
Her father's face turned a deep shade of red, his anger barely contained. "You have the gall to justify the abduction of my daughter?" he thundered, his voice echoing through the hall. "The gall to stand before this court and claim innocence after committing such heinous acts? You, who have betrayed your oaths, distorned the law which you were meant to uphold."
He stood from the Iron Throne, his fury palpable. "Lord Harrold Hayford, for your crimes against the Crown and the realm, I hereby sentence you to death. You will pay for your treachery with your life."
Hayford's eyes widened in sheer terror. "No, no, I don't want to die! I am innocent!" he screamed, his voice breaking. "I wish for trial by combat! Trial by combat!" His desperate cries echoed through the throne room, his pleas becoming more frantic with each passing second.
Jon Arryn stepped forward, his expression impassive. "Is there anyone here who would stand for Lord Hayford?" he asked, his voice carrying a note of finality.
Hayford's eyes darted around the room, seeking any sign of support. His gaze landed on his former allies—Lords Harte, Rolligford, and Darke. He stumbled toward them, his chains clinking, desperation in his eyes.
"Ha too cowardly to fight himself," Obara said disgustedly.
"Please," he begged, his voice hoarse. "You know me. We were friends. Stand for me in this trial by combat."
The lords exchanged uneasy glances, their faces betraying their discomfort. Lord Harte spoke first, his voice cold and detached. "We have had no dealings with you, Lord Hayford."
Lord Rolligford nodded in agreement, trying to distance himself as his own brother was one of Hayford's officers.
Lord Darke remained silent, his gaze fixed on the ground, unwilling to meet Hayford's pleading eyes.
Her father's patience snapped. "Enough!" he commanded, his voice brooking no argument. "Drag him back to the black cells. He will face the executioner at dawn."
The guards moved forward, seizing Hayford by the arms. He continued to scream, his cries growing more desperate. "No! No! I'm innocent! I demand a trial by combat! Someone, I beg you, stand for me!"
Her father was not finished yet. He straightened on the Iron Throne, the light catching on the sharp edges of the swords that made up the seat. "Furthermore," Rhaegar declared, his voice resonating through the throne room, "it is my decree that my son Prince Maekar will assume the position of Commander of the City Watch. He has proven himself with the Fire Watch and will work alongside Jon Arryn to reform the City Watch and restore its honor and trust in the people."
The announcement sent a ripple through the assembled courtiers. Loud murmurs filled the air as people exchanged shocked and speculative glances.
Rhaenys looked to where Aegon stood. His face was a storm of fury, his eyes dark with anger. Without a word, he turned abruptly and stormed out of the hall, his cape billowing behind him. The lords and his friends, including Joffrey, quickly followed, whispering among themselves.
"Aegon is not happy," Obara observed quietly, her sharp eyes following the prince's departure.
Arianne had already left before the sentencing. She suspected her cousin had gone to look for Maekar.
"Come, Obara, walk with me," Rhaenys said, deciding to leave the tense atmosphere of the great hall. They exited through the side doors, stepping into a quieter corridor. The air was cooler here, the sounds of the bustling throne room fading behind them.
They walked in silence for a time, the weight of recent events hanging heavily between them. It was Obara who finally broke the silence. "You should accept his offer," she said, her tone direct.
Rhaenys stopped in her tracks, turning to look at her cousin. She had confided in Obara about Maekar's proposition, trusting her judgment and discretion. She had considered telling Arianne and the others but had held back, knowing Arianne's feelings for Maekar could complicate matters.
But she could tell Obara, someone she could always count on.
"He is my brother," she said, the argument weak even to her own ears.
"Aegon, I understand," Obara trailed off. "But Maekar..."
"Your aunt will be here in a fortnight, and so will Margaery Tyrell in a month," Obara said.
"So?" Rhaenys asked, curiosity piqued.
"While I was working with Prince Maekar, I looked around his solar. There were countless letters being exchanged between your aunt and him. Considering how beautiful they say she is..."
"And Margaery is coming for Aegon; that much is clear. You yourself confirmed it was Aegon who was responsible for making her your new handmaiden," Obara continued.
Rhaenys felt a knot tightening in her stomach.
"Think about it, Rhae. You need him more than he needs you," Obara said. It was the brutal truth.
"I... I need to think," she replied, walking away from her eldest cousin.
Obara had said nothing but the truth. She needed Maekar more than he needed her. But the only reason she was doing this, other than to prevent Aegon's ascension, was for her autonomy.
She sighed. "I should have just stayed in Dorne," she muttered to herself.
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Quenton Qoherys walked along the walls of the Red Keep, his gaze sweeping over the sprawling city below. King's Landing was a bustling hive of activity, with its winding streets and crowded marketplaces. His eyes lingered on Flea Bottom, where a section was being torn down and rebuilt. This was Prince Maekar's doing. The rehabilitation would take years, but Quenton admired the prince's commitment to such a monumental task.
Poor Hayford had met his end today, and now Prince Maekar was to replace him as commander of the City Watch. Yes, he had lost a valuable ally, but he felt like he had gained a more powerful one.
Yet, he knew better than to rely solely on one prince. His father had taught him to always have another plan, another option. In this case, another prince. Fortunately, he was already familiar with this one.
Ahead, he spotted the man he was looking for: the crown prince. Aegon stood with Ser Gerold Dayne by his side. The prince's gaze was fixed on the city below, his expression one of simmering anger. He knew the prince would be here as he had spotted Ser Barristan Selmy below the walls.
Quenton approached the prince, his footsteps echoing softly on the stone battlements. "Lord Qoherys," Aegon said, turning his head slightly to acknowledge him.
"Oh, my prince, I am no lord, my prince," Quenton replied, bowing slightly.
"Yet you are more powerful than many in the realm," Aegon said, turning his gaze back to the city.
Quenton laughed softly. "Power is a fleeting thing, my prince."
"Leave us, Gerold," Aegon commanded suddenly.
"My prince," Gerold protested, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at Quenton.
"Gerold," Aegon repeated more firmly.
With a reluctant nod, Gerold cast a final wary glance at Quenton before walking away, his footsteps heavy with discontent.
Quenton watched him go 'That one always acts like a petulant child.' he thought.
Aegon turned to Quenton, his gaze sharp. "Well, Qoherys, why are you here?"
Quenton smiled benignly. "I am simply admiring the city, Your Grace."
Aegon laughed, a bitter edge to his voice. "What is there to admire?"
"Oh, perhaps not much now, but your brother has been hard at work to make it more admirable," Quenton said, carefully gauging the crown prince's reaction.
Aegon's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "Yes, my brother," he said bitterly.
Quenton tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating a thought. "It's remarkable how Prince Maekar's influence has been growing," he said. "The people see him as a hero. His work in Flea Bottom, the Fire Watch... he's gaining quite a reputation. The city loves him, and they adore your sister as well. Together, they have become quite the beloved figures."
Aegon's jaw tightened. "I see," he said curtly.
"It's just the nature of things," Quenton said with a nonchalant shrug. "Power shifts, alliances form. Your brother's star is rising, and with it, his influence. But, of course, with such power comes opposition. He has made many enemies as well."
Aegon looked intrigued, the anger in his eyes giving way to curiosity. "Enemies, you say?"
"Yes, indeed," Quenton said, leaning in slightly. "There are those who see his rise as a threat. Some feel he is but a bastard and see him as a threat to the realm… you know how bastards are."
Aegon considered this, a calculating look in his eyes. "And you, Qoherys? Where do you stand in all of this?"
Quenton smiled, a slow, measured expression. "I stand where I always have, my prince. I serve the realm and its rightful rulers."
Aegon stayed silent for some time and then left without saying a word. Quneton watched him leave with a satisfied smile and made his way down from the walls, his mind already plotting his next moves. He walked through the corridors of the keep, lost in thought, until a familiar presence pulled him from his reverie.
"Varys, I have always been fascinated by your ability to appear out of nowhere," Quenton said, stopping in his tracks.
From the shadows stepped Varys, the spymaster. He was fat, hairless, and dressed in flamboyant clothes that seemed almost comical against the dark stone walls. "Oh, how could you tell?" Varys giggled, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
"It's the perfume, Varys. I can always tell," Quenton replied with a smirk.
"I see you have made some new friends," Varys said, his tone light but his eyes sharp.
Quenton smiled, a slow, calculated expression. "Yes, nothing ever escapes you, does it?"
"Your motives remain as elusive to me as ever," Varys said, stepping closer. "I could never understand them."
"I take that as a compliment," Quenton said, his tone even.
Varys's smile widened. "Yet, I believe I understand some of it."
"Did your little birds find that out?" Quenton asked, arching an eyebrow.
"You wish to regain what your family lost. You have wealth but lack the former prestige. Once equals to House Velaryon, now just a vassal to a lesser house… The horror," Varys said, putting his hand to his mouth in mock shock.
For a brief moment, Quenton's mask of neutrality slipped, showing a flash of anger, but he quickly corrected himself. "There are other ways, my lord, to regain your family's former glory," Varys said in a low voice.
Quenton looked confused, his eyes narrowing.
"We are not allies, but there is a way we can help each other," Varys continued.
Quenton remained silent, contemplating the spymaster's words. Finally, he spoke. "It was good talking to you, Lord Varys," he said before turning and walking away, leaving the mysterious Master of Whispers behind.
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