章 1602: 18
Chapter 18: TrialsNotes:
Oooookay.
I'm not sure what I've done with this chapter. To be honest, at this point I'm just forcing myself to write.
Maybe I'm just can't find my groove.
Anyway, I think there is no other way to move on other than...move on.
Chapter Text
18.
Trials
Jon followed her into the Dragonpit, through its damp and cold corridors and up a flight of steps that led to a secluded box. There there was a small audience made up of the same people he'd seen occasionally these past few days. They all looked at Jon with suspicion and disapproval.
He recognized Jorah Mormont amongst them, son of his former Lord Commander and who was exiled from the Realm in the past. Jon heard he found his way into Daenerys' inner circle. He was waiting for her to escort her to her chair.
Jon didn't quite know what to make of all of it. The place was full of people, nobles and commoners alike, standing in the tiers in a state of expectation.
Footsteps came behind him and Jon turned around; walking into the box was the same smug Lord from the Great Council who had fought him hard. He walked past Jon, sparing him a sidelong look.
He went and sat on the chair to the left of Daenerys, not before bowing and kissing her hand; a gesture that the Queen regarded coldly.
Jon did what he had to do and took the seat to the right of Daenerys.
"Your Majesty," said the other Lord from the left side, "Is it wise to have a rebel to your Reign present at the Trial?"
Jon frowned. When Daenerys mentioned that justice awaited her meeting, he did not imagine that all this fanfare was about a trial.
"King Jon might be a rebel and his kingdom an enemy to my crown, Lord Redwyne but he is still my guest," Daenerys replied in a solemn tone, always looking straight ahead.
The Redwynes of The Reach, Jon acknowledged, searching the recesses of his memory for the lessons on the noble houses of Westeros taught by Maester Luwin.
Both men observed at the other warily.
"You are both my guests of honor, but most importantly you two, as everyone gathered here has an interest at stake," she explained.
Daenerys issued an order in a foreign tongue to her guards that they were quick to comply.
***
Deep within the dungeons of Red Keep, Jaime and Tyrion found themselves chained in two opposing cells. Both mired in their own filth, utter misery and resignation weighing on their shoulders, both retained the characteristic Lannister pride by neither of them giving the other the pleasure of acknowledging their mistakes.
"I told you that one should never trust the sanity of a Targaryen," came Jaime's reaproachful remark. He actually ignored whether Daenerys was her father's daughter or not. Her sanity was of no importance to him, seeing that his life and that of his entire family were on the way to extinction. He wanted this advantage over Tyrion though; to have beaten him in the game of personality trace which was his expertise.
But Tyrion would have none of it.
Lifting his scarred face, Tyrion said: "And they used to say a Lannister's word was as valuable as their gold, but guess what, brother? both our riches and the value of our word have devaluated."
The two looked at each other for a long time in silence. A smile spread across Jaime's face.
"You know what, Tyrion?" he said, "Your problem is that you always believed yourself to be better than us, but guess what," He dragged a few steps that the chains allowed him, "You're a Lannister," he stated with a smirky edge to his whispering voice, "Nothing will change that. Not Tysha, not your precious Targaryen queen."
Before Tyrion could answer, the gates on the side where the guards made their post opened and Grey Worm walked in.
***
"What is this about?"
Jon's thick, deep voice came up to her like a demand. Daenerys gave him a long, serious look.
"It is a trial," she answered with solemnity.
"Whose?" Jon asked again.
At that very moment, the gates to the pit in the middle of the arena slashed open, and several Unsullied and Dothraki guards came out from the depths of it, dragging several men in chains behind them.
Jon got to his feet and hurried over to watch in shock as Tyrion shuffled amongst them.
"I'm sure you both are wondering what he's doing down there," came Daenerys' voice. Calm, but with an edge to it. "It turns out that my Lord Hand has to answer for more crimes than the murder of his own father."
"I have no doubt that Your Grace has more than enough motive to punish these prisoners," Lord Desmond hurried on, "But if it was a trial, the common procedure in these cases is—"
"Don't try to lecture me on the ways of Westeros, Lord Redwyne. I'm familiar with them," Daenerys cut him off with a curt tone. "These men disregarded the laws of men and went as far as break their sacred oaths and attempt on those they swore to protect." Dany, undaunted, glared at Jon's nape. "Don't you think betrayal and murder deserve punishment, King Jon?"
Jon looked at her over his shoulder, rattled.
She sat upright in her seat between his still empty chair and the Lord Desmond Redwyne, who would cut a less-than-friendly look at Jon every now and then. Her face was expressionless but her frame was tense as if she were holding her breath.
***
Daenerys got up and walked to the edge of the stall, her ethereal frame set against a gray sky that brews a storm. Without further niceties she began a speech, explaining why they gathered there that day. Her words slipped smoothly, the force of her voice fueled by a renewed sense of rightfulness; all the men down there had damaged her in some way. Tyrion, the kingslayer, even the Tarlys. Her abrupt decision was not consulted with her tight inner circle and would surely ensue consequences, she knew. But at that point, Daenerys didn't care. If Varys attempted on her once again, he'd fail again and she'd have the excuse to get rid of him once for all.
Looking over her shoulder, she met Jon Snow's uncertain stare. Her greatest foe, and yet the one she couldn't will herself to punish in the same way. He disapproved it, she could tell. He was coming to see her in a different light, how she's really been all this time.
A question on her mind popped up again. The idea you had of me, who was she? Because in another life he had first considered her selfish and too entitled until an act of impulsive heroism led her to lose one of her children for him and Jorah and only then did Jon recognize that part of her that was always there. But it was only one layer of her, one of the many that made Daenerys who she was.
A throbbing pain in the left side of her head suddenly made her close her eyes and lean against the railing. Behind her she felt the grip of one of her guards, - probably Ser Jorah, coming to hold her.
"I'm fine," she muttered in her mother tongue. "I'm fine," she repeated, looking straight ahead at Tyrion's, whose dark eyes were set on her.
***
The public was unbridled and rambunctious. Jon sat on the edge of his chair, one hand on Longclaw instinctively on the alert in case anything got out of control.
Daenerys got up and walked until she was facing the arena. Jon wondered how she would go about speaking to that raging audience when the roar of the dragons came from the sky and silenced the entire Dragonpit.
Jon felt Jorah Mormont's gaze on him and wondered if he had noticed that the sword was his father's.
His attention quickly turned to the impromptu trial he found himself in. His gaze fell on a chained and filthy Tyrion, down there with the other POWs.
What would have been his crime?
Was it finally true that Daenerys Targaryen was insane?
In that moment he felt the urge to withdraw, to sail back home and face the Night King as it may, but to get away from King's Landing and its complex political dynamics he didn't understand and wanted to part in it.
Then he heard the arraignment: he was not surprised that the first was the kingslayer. It was even obvious that his crime against Daenerys' father would not go unpunished. As far as Jon knew, Jaime Lannister had also ambushed his own father, murdered their guard Jory...yes, he thought, Jaime Lannister was not in his graces and deserved punishment.
Then his heart surged to his throat: the Tarlys. Sam's father and brother. Traitors. They attempted on the lives of their lieges. The same crime for which the Boltons were now gone. Extinct.
He winced and lamented it for Sam. Jon had killed out of simple disobedience. If he found himself in Daenerys' place, he would not hesitate to punish them by what law and honor demanded.
But Sam...Jon knew what his little brother meant for him.
Just when he meant to get up and approach Daenerys, she leaned against the railing and held her head in her left hand. He thought she had been hurt, and without hesitation, jumped and took two long strides towards her to hold her from falling into the void.
She said something in words he did not comprehend but what Jon did understand was that she was well.
When she looked at him over her shoulder, he saw that her eyes were red.
She was going through some suffering of some kind.
"You are afraid for the fate of your friend's family right?" she asked, her voice deep and almost imperceptible.
Jon looked at her confused.
"Him too," she kept saying, her eyes traveling past him to Ser Jorah, just a few steps away from them and surely overhearing everything. "I know about Samwell Tarly. I know about your friendship and his healing Jorah's at the Citadel."
Jon looked at Jorah, his expression undaunted but his eyes engaged. There was more than concern there.
"I ignore Samwell's fate at the Citadel but I am glad that his stay was useful. I cannot answer for his family's crimes, and neither can he," Jon replied.
"The fate of the Tarlys has already been decided by our Great Council," said an alien voice. It was that of Lord Desmond Redwyne, who, feeling displaced, leaned out to stalk on the exchange between Jon and Daenerys. "That old grump Tarly not only attempted on my aunt's life, but he also craved for what was not his, the bastard. Theft. Betrayal. Breaking his sacred oath with the House Tyrell. Alliance with the usurper! Crimes that great cannot go away unpunished—"
"Lord Desmond," Daenerys' voice was crisp and clear, "I'm sure your opinion was more than expressed at this point." Daenerys looked at Jon with serious eyes. "I want to know what the King in the North deems right. The man who pursued punishment for those who betrayed his family and usurped their home."
It was a test, Jon knew. One of more of the many she had put him under today. His growing frustration at the hostility received...he was done putting up with it.
"Execution," he answered without hesitation; "The punishment for treason is execution."
Taking a few steps back, Jon restored the distance between them.
Dany wrinkled her nose in a grimace at not finding the answer she wanted. Jon once again caught her by surprise with a different reaction than she expected to stir. If only he put up a fight...then she might indulge on her own hurt...
"It's true," she said, "Treason must be punished with death. It's good to know that we agree on that, all of us. Right?" she asked, wryly.
***
"It seems your queen quickly found another spoony to lend her counsel," Jaime pointed out mockingly.
So it seems, Tyrion thought to himself, watching from down there as Jon Snow spoke to Daenerys with a confidence he hadn't seen the last time he saw them together when they could barely bear to be in the same room.
A very bitter feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. If there was one thing he had set out to accomplish in his last days as a Hand, it was to drive Jon Snow away. It was not the first time that he had sought to ward off Daenerys from a strong. In Tyrion's eyes, Daario Naharis had been an example of how her will could be malleable by an assertive charisma. Jon, while not sharing Naharis' impulsive ego, had a grip on Daenerys' emotions that he was learning to make good use of.
Another part of him was only jealous of the growing interest he saw grow in Daenerys' eyes every time the bastard showed up. Even now he could see what Varys was pointing out to him: Jon could be that cool force that tempered the queen's fire.
An argument seemed to take place in the box between Daenerys and Jon Snow. When the latter walked away, the queen looked back down at all of them. The rumors and whimpers of the men around him only increased.
"This Council has long and extensively debated the penalty for your crimes. Treachery, dishonor, breaking sacred oaths will not be easily overlooked under my reign." Her amethyst eyes fell on his. "Nor other heinous crimes."
Tyrion winced. The force that compelled him to confide in her his most terrible crime now coming back in waves of regret and shame.
"However, the laws of Westeros oblige me to offer you two options. The same option that those who precede me have offered their fallen enemies." Daenerys looked solemn with her hands crossed in her front and a haughty look. "Execution or exile."
The murmurs of the imprisoned men brought him out of his stupor and he looked to the side where the surly Lord Tarly — now a disgraced man — along with his heir, engaged in a row over honor and punishment. The former, Tyrion heard, was willing to die for honor. Taking the black meant worse than death for the Lord. The son and heir, wanted to accompany his father on his final fate.
Behind them, oversized grilles opened, powered by a mechanism that took several men to propel. It reminded Tyrion of the great stones that covered the catacombs where the dragons had been chained once in Meereen.
The audience fell into stunned silence. From the darkness came a low, monstrous growl.
***
Jon rose from his seat once more as he heard the heavy sound rumble through the Dragonpit. Soon they were in full view of all the attendants, the three winged beasts that crawled out of the pit. One smaller than the others, his scales gleamed white and gold. Another whose scales were jade and when it spread its wings in a menacing flap it revealed scarlet cloaks beneath them.
It was a fearful sight certainly but mesmerizing as well. As the green beast's eyes turned to the audience, Jon felt a hot surge flood his chest that came tumultuous and searing, taking his breath away.
The last beast was the Balerion reborn, which he was not seeing for the first time.
"Beautiful, aren't they?" Daenerys asked quietly, her eyes tightened watching him, caught in awe.
Jon could agree they were a sight to behold. But looking around him, he realized that not everyone would use that word to describe them. Especially not the prisoners down there.
"Beautiful beasts, yes," he replied, swallowing hard.
Dany just watched him, assessing him.
"They are not beasts to me," she said tersely.
That earned her a look from him; a despondent expression on his features.
Daenerys took a deep breath and proceeded with the trial of the traitors.
***
Most of them chose to take black and lose all their honors and titles. Tyrion knew that deep down it would be a strategy for Daenerys to send these soldiers to certain death in the North, when they had to face the army of white walkers and revived dead. Jaime was not aware of the latter. Already disgraced and humiliated, his gallant brother had no choice but to give in to preserve his life.
One part of Tyrion rejoiced to see him stripped of his pride and his dignity, the other inevitably felt a pang of remorse and regret.
The proud Lord Tarly uttered a string of offensive words before choosing execution. If Tyrion remembered correctly, the final decree of the Great Council members had been to send him to the scaffold for his treason anyway.
His imbecile son followed him, instead of staying behind and seeing for the sake of his family name.
Stupid boy, Tyrion thought.
A long pause followed his statement. Daenerys up there seemed to be having an argument with herself.
"You may not like my presence here in Westeros, my lord, but the reality is that I am here and you made a poor decision trying to douse the inevitable. Along the way, you chose your own doom."
Behind them the dragons moved, looming over the terrified men, obscuring the sunlight.
"This Council has deliberated on what motivated your decision and found no reasonable response. Not only have you choose the weak side - the wrong side of history, but you also have chosen to follow the woman who sought the destruction of the ruling House of the Reach; you had ulterior motives and none of them had to do with love for your country nor loyalty to its people." Daenerys spoke loud and clear, this time turning to the condemned man's son. "On the other hand, you, a child who has barely come out into the world, what did you know of honor when you chose to corrupt yourself by being loyal to your father, even in his misdeeds? You have been loyal to your blood, even when this blood has fallen into dishonor and treason. Your decisions, boy, are those of a child who has not learn enough of the world. But you will held accountable nonetheless. This Council has decided that your penance shall be execution."
A loud fiery snort indicated that Drogon was mustering his deadly fire behind them.
"But this is where I'm going to disagree with them. You're not going to die today."
Tyrion gaped and the overwhelming audience fell silent.
"You are not prepared to make your own decisions, boy. You have no mature judgment for it," the queen said with a cruel edge. "I am going to strip you of that power, and from now on you will be left behind your sister and her lineage in the line of succession of your House and even if she were to abdicate that right, it will be someone else who governs your father's lands because from now on you will be sentenced to a life stripped of all the luxuries and titles entrusted to you. You will have no rightful children and you will serve in the ranks of your liege lord's army until the day death comes to you."
Following this, Daenerys' soldiers held the boy who, between cries of horror and sorrow, saw his father being consumed by the flames of the three dragons, who then gobbled up the roasted remains.
***
The way the dragons ate the remains of Sam's father reminded Jon of a similar scene, but in the dungeons of Winterfell, Ramsey's remains gobbled up by his own dogs. That execution had been Sansa's prerogative; she was within her rights to claim him for herself, after the horrors that bloody bastard had put her through.
Lord Tarly's death was not motivated by personal offense, and that perhaps made it seem too excessive.
Dragonpit falling into complete silence for a moment, it made him think the mood was shared. But then something changed and a wave of applause and cheers followed the violent execution.
Jon stood up and tried to leave the box.
"Is it too much for you, Jon Snow?" Daenerys' voice stopped him; taunted him.
Jon turned around. Feelings of helplessness and frustration swirling at his core.
"Is this kind of queen you want to be? Is it your father's legacy that you intend to follow? Burn your enemies for your mere enjoyment and delight?"
He knew he was crossing a dangerous limit.
Her decision had been justified and she had even spared the life of a man who had been rightfully sentenced to die. But still it was the contradiction in him and the little understanding of her person that troubled him.
At times Daenerys Targaryen was the great legend who came to build a new world and then that facade fell apart, leaving only standing the queen whose severity was relentless. They felt like two very different people inhabiting the same body. A part of her full of light and goodness and the other dark, waiting to storm and take possession of everything that was her.
The bloody arse next to her, the Lord Desmond, drew his sword and pointed it at him.
"I should cut out your tongue for offending Her Grace!"
"Lord Desmond, put your sword away," Daenerys ordered even before he could give one step.
"I can see your father's honor in you, bastard," said an old voice, a woman who sat to his left and whose gaze seemed mocking and defiant at the same time. "Perhaps in the North you are accustomed to playing it down in the face of disloyal defections, considering the Boltons ruled Winterfell and flayed those loyal to your family for years before your bastard arse decided to do something about it. "
"Lady Olenna, that is enough," Daenerys barged in again, before focusing her hard, unforgiving gaze on him. "Your words are moving, Jon Snow. But a man's words seldom mean more than wasted breath. Take Lord Tarly as an example." She sounded calm and even a small smile crept across her face. "You are invited to retire."
***
Tyrion knew his decision would be to take the black. Or be exiled. Either way he had nowhere else to go and dying was still not an option for him, no matter how much self-loathing he felt at the time.
Jaime had other plans.
"Your Grace," he said breathlessly, after the fire and the cloud of dust and grime that rose had fade when the satisfied dragons had backed away. "I invoke my right to a trial by combat."
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