Capítulo 24: Chapter 23

In the bustling training yard of the Red Keep, Jaehaerys, Daemon, Vaelar, Garth, Ser Harwin Strong, Ser Gawen Cobray, and Ser Erryk Cargyll were hard at work, honing their skills and preparing for the imminent Trial of the Seven. The clashing of swords and the rhythmic thud of practice blows filled the air, each combatant focused on perfecting their technique and building their strength.

The training session was abruptly interrupted as Ser Arryk Cargyll arrived, his face set with concern. He approached the group, his heavy footsteps cutting through the din of the training yard.

"Your Graces," Arryk began, his voice carrying a note of urgency. "I have troubling news. Ser Ryam Redwyne has requested an audience with Prince Jaehaerys."

Jaehaerys paused mid-strike, his brow furrowing as he looked at Arryk. "Ser Ryam? What is the matter?"

Arryk's expression grew grimmer. "Master Melos has informed me that Ser Ryam is gravely ill. The Maester believes he may not survive the day."

A murmur of concern rippled through the group. Jaehaerys, though visibly concerned, quickly masked his worry with a determined expression. He looked at Daemon, who gave him a reassuring nod, then turned back to Arryk.

"Lead the way," Jaehaerys instructed. "We must see Ser Ryam immediately."

The group followed Arryk through the corridors of the Red Keep, their steps echoing with a sense of urgency. They arrived at Ser Ryam's chambers, where the air was heavy with the scent of healing herbs and the low murmur of the Maesters' voices.

Inside, Ser Ryam Redwyne lay propped up on a bed, his face pale and drawn. Master Melos stood beside him, his expression grave as he examined the ailing knight. Ser Ryam's eyes lit up with recognition as Jaehaerys and the others entered.

"Prince Jaehaerys," Ser Ryam rasped, his voice weak but filled with a mix of relief and regret. "I am honored to see you."

Jaehaerys approached the bedside, his face a mask of concern. "Ser Ryam, I am deeply troubled by your condition. How can we help?"

Ser Ryam managed a faint smile, though it was tinged with sadness. "There is little that can be done now. My time is drawing near. But before I go, there is something I must tell you."

Jaehaerys leaned closer, his gaze steady. "Speak freely."

Ser Ryam's voice was a whisper, but each word carried weight. "The Faith has more allies than you know. Some are still hidden in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. And there are those among them who are not as loyal as they seem."

Jaehaerys nodded, absorbing the information. "We will remain vigilant. Your courage and loyalty have not gone unnoticed, Ser Ryam. We will honor your memory by seeing this through to the end."

Ser Ryam's eyes softened with gratitude. "Thank you, Your Grace. I pray that the gods favor you in the trial. May justice and honor prevail."

As Ser Ryam's breathing grew shallower, Jaehaerys and his companions bade him farewell, their hearts heavy with the weight of impending loss. They left the chamber with renewed resolve, determined to uphold Ser Ryam's legacy and to face the coming trial with the strength and honor he had exemplified.

The training yard, once filled with the clamor of preparation, now seemed quieter, the weight of Ser Ryam's impending death casting a somber shadow over their preparations. But their resolve was firm. They would fight not just for their cause but for the memory of those who had supported them through their darkest hours.

—

Larys Strong, with his keen abilities, focused his senses and sent his mind soaring through the eyes of a raven. He directed the bird to fly over the bustling streets and noble halls of King's Landing, where he had heard whispers of potential allies for the Faith. His patience and skill paid off as he overheard a conversation between Ser Gwayne Hightower and another man who exuded a commanding presence: Lord Borros Baratheon.

Larys listened intently as Ser Gwayne and Lord Borros discussed the latter's role as one of the Faith's champions in the upcoming Trial by Seven. It was clear that Borros, with his aggressive and battle-hungry nature, had been persuaded by the prospect of glory and combat rather than any deep-seated religious fervor. As the raven continued its surveillance, Larys made sure to note every detail, including Borros's dismissive attitude toward the long-term consequences of his actions.

Satisfied with the information gathered, Larys directed the raven back, pulling his consciousness back into his own body. He quickly penned a message to Prince Jaehaerys and the others, detailing his discovery about Lord Borros Baratheon's involvement.

Meanwhile, Rhaenys Targaryen received the news with a heavy heart. The revelation that Borros Baratheon, son of her cousin Boremund Baratheon, was siding with the Faith struck her deeply. The Baratheons and Targaryens shared a complicated yet intertwined history, and this betrayal by one of her kin felt like a personal affront. Rhaenys, known as the "Queen Who Never Was," had always prided herself on her strong familial ties and sense of loyalty.

Rising from her seat, she made a swift decision. "I will not stand by and allow this affront to go unanswered," she declared, her voice filled with determination. "If Borros has chosen to betray his family and the realm for some misguided notion of glory, then I will go to Storm's End and speak with Lord Boremund myself."

Her husband, Lord Corlys Velaryon, nodded in agreement, though he cautioned her. "Be careful, Rhaenys. Borros is headstrong and driven by a lust for battle. Convincing him will not be easy, and Boremund may not have the influence over him that you hope."

Rhaenys's eyes hardened with resolve. "Borros may be headstrong, but Boremund understands the importance of loyalty and family. I must at least try."

With that, Rhaenys donned her riding gear and made her way to the dragonpit, where her dragon, Meleys, awaited. The Red Queen, as Meleys was known, was as fierce and proud as her rider. As Rhaenys climbed onto the dragon's back, she steeled herself for the task ahead. Flying swiftly, she set her course for Storm's End, hoping to appeal to Lord Boremund Baratheon's sense of duty and kinship.

As Meleys soared over the Narrow Sea and approached the storm-lashed cliffs of Storm's End, Rhaenys felt a flicker of hope. She knew convincing Borros might be an uphill battle, but she was determined to try and avert the potential conflict between her kin and the Targaryen loyalists. The stakes were too high to do anything less.

—

As Rhaenys mounted Meleys and soared towards Storm's End, a somber mood settled over the Red Keep. The news spread quickly: Ser Ryam Redwyne, the venerable Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, had passed away. His death was a heavy blow to the royal family and all who respected the old knight's unwavering loyalty and honor.

In the quiet corridors and bustling halls, whispers of the loss mingled with the hush of mourning. Ser Ryam was more than just a knight; he was a symbol of unwavering duty and integrity, embodying the very ideals of knighthood. His presence had been a cornerstone of the Kingsguard and the realm for decades.

For Jaehaerys, the loss was particularly profound. Ser Ryam had been his mentor, teaching him not only the martial skills required of a knight but also the virtues of chivalry, duty, and honor. To Jaehaerys, Ser Ryam had been like a second father, guiding him through the complexities of life at court and the responsibilities of his station. The prince often remembered the long hours spent in training, not just with sword and shield, but in conversations about the importance of justice and compassion. Now, with Ser Ryam gone, a void was left that seemed impossible to fill.

Jaehaerys stood in the silent chamber where Ser Ryam's body lay in repose, his heart heavy with grief. He reached out to touch the hilt of the knight's sword, a symbol of the strength and wisdom the old knight had imparted. "You were a true knight, Ser Ryam," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I will honor your memory and the lessons you taught me, always."

Garth Redwyne, Ser Ryam's nephew, stood by his side, struggling with his own grief. Ser Ryam had been a beloved uncle, a figure of inspiration and guidance. The bond they shared was deep, built on shared family ties and a mutual respect for the codes of knighthood. Garth felt the weight of his uncle's legacy, a reminder of the high standards he had to uphold.

Daemon, though often seen as a rogue and unpredictable, had always admired Ser Ryam's steadfastness and dedication. The old knight's adherence to his principles, even in the face of difficult decisions, was something Daemon respected deeply. He stood silently by Jaehaerys, his usual bravado replaced by a quiet reverence. "He was one of the best," Daemon murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "A true knight, to the end."

As the day wore on, the Red Keep was subdued, the atmosphere heavy with the loss of a legend. The members of the Kingsguard, noble lords, and ladies of the court all paid their respects, each reflecting on the impact Ser Ryam had made during his long service. His death was not just a loss for the Targaryen family but for the realm as a whole.

The funeral preparations began, with the royal family ensuring that Ser Ryam would receive the honors befitting his station and service. It was decided that he would be laid to rest in the White Sword Tower, alongside other great members of the Kingsguard. It was a fitting tribute to a man who had devoted his life to protecting the realm and upholding the values of knighthood.

Jaehaerys, still reeling from the loss, resolved to carry forward the principles Ser Ryam had instilled in him. He vowed to honor the old knight's memory by striving to be a ruler who embodied justice and compassion, just as Ser Ryam had taught him.

As Rhaenys flew towards Storm's End, carrying the weight of her own mission, the rest of the royal family mourned. Ser Ryam's passing was a stark reminder of the impermanence of life and the importance of upholding one's duties with honor and integrity. The loss of such a stalwart figure only underscored the challenges they faced, but it also strengthened their resolve to honor his legacy by securing the future of House Targaryen and the realm.

—

Rhaenys flew Meleys, the Red Queen, towards Storm's End, the ancestral seat of House Baratheon. The ancient castle, perched on the stormy coast, was a formidable sight, its tall towers and thick walls standing against the relentless winds and waves. As Meleys descended gracefully into the courtyard, the gathered Baratheon men watched in awe, a dragon's presence always a reminder of the Targaryen power.

Rhaenys dismounted with a fluid grace, her cloak billowing around her. She was greeted by the household staff and soon ushered into the great hall, where Lord Boremund Baratheon awaited her. He stood as she entered, his expression a mix of respect and curiosity.

"Welcome to Storm's End, cousin," Boremund greeted, a warm smile crossing his weathered face. Despite his age, he still carried himself with the strength and presence of a warrior.

"Boremund," Rhaenys acknowledged, her voice steady but carrying an undertone of urgency. "Thank you for receiving me on such short notice."

They exchanged pleasantries briefly before Rhaenys cut to the heart of the matter. "I come not just as kin, but with grave concerns. It has come to my attention that your son, Borros, has pledged himself as a champion for the Faith in the upcoming Trial by Seven."

Boremund's expression darkened slightly. He sighed, a sound filled with frustration and resignation. "Yes, Borros has always been headstrong. He sees this trial as a chance to prove himself, to make a name in the annals of history. The boy has always had more brawn than sense."

Rhaenys nodded, understanding the complexities of familial ties and the burdens of leadership. "The trial is a serious matter, Boremund. It threatens not just the individuals involved but the stability of the realm. Borros' involvement is a direct challenge to the crown, to our family."

Boremund's eyes met hers, a flicker of regret in their depths. "Believe me, Rhaenys, I understand the gravity of the situation. I have spoken to him, tried to reason with him, but he is set on this course. His stubbornness rivals the storms that batter our keep."

Rhaenys frowned, her worry deepening. "He is not just risking his own life, Boremund. His actions could have far-reaching consequences. The crown cannot overlook this as merely a youthful folly."

Boremund sighed again, rubbing his temples as if to ward off a headache. "I know. But Borros is a man grown, and as much as it pains me to say it, he is beyond my control in this matter. He believes he is fighting for a just cause, misled as he might be."

Rhaenys considered her words carefully, knowing the delicate balance she had to strike. "Is there nothing you can do? No influence you can wield to make him reconsider?"

Boremund shook his head, a deep frown marring his features. "Borros sees this as his chance to step out of my shadow, to prove himself worthy of Storm's End. I fear nothing short of an outright command from the crown could sway him, and even then, his pride might drive him to defy it."

The disappointment in his voice was evident, and Rhaenys felt a pang of sympathy. She knew the weight of familial expectations and the pain of watching loved ones make misguided choices. "Boremund, if Borros proceeds with this, it will set him against not just the crown but against me and my children. It will strain the bonds of our house and could lead to bloodshed."

Boremund's gaze hardened slightly, the lines of worry deepening around his eyes. "I understand, Rhaenys. Believe me, I do. But my hands are tied. I will not support him in this, nor will I sanction it. But I cannot stop him."

Rhaenys took a deep breath, steeling herself for the realities ahead. "Very well. But know that if he continues on this path, he will find himself standing against the might of the Targaryens. And that is a position no one should envy."

Boremund nodded, a resigned acceptance in his eyes. "I will do what I can to mitigate this, to guide him. But know this, cousin: whatever happens, Storm's End will not stand against the crown. I will not allow my son's folly to bring ruin upon our house."

With a heavy heart, Rhaenys knew she had done all she could. She would return to King's Landing with the knowledge that Borros Baratheon was beyond reach, a potential threat that could not be ignored. As she prepared to depart, she and Boremund exchanged a final, somber look, each aware of the challenges that lay ahead. The Targaryen princess mounted Meleys, soaring back into the stormy skies, her mind troubled by the uncertain future and the trials that awaited.

—

The funeral of Ser Ryam Redwyne was a solemn affair, steeped in the traditions and customs of Westeros. The entire royal family gathered in the Sept on Visenya's Hill, draped in mourning black, their expressions reflecting the deep respect and sorrow they felt for the passing of the esteemed Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

Ser Ryam's body lay in state, clad in his white Kingsguard armor, a symbol of his lifelong dedication to the crown and the realm. His hands were crossed over his chest, and his sword rested beside him, a final testament to his unwavering service and honor. The hall was filled with the soft glow of candles, their light casting a warm glow on the marble floors and the silent figures of those in attendance.

The High Septon, standing before the gathered nobles and courtiers, began the ceremony with a solemn invocation to the Seven, praising Ser Ryam's steadfastness, courage, and loyalty. The sept echoed with the hushed whispers of prayers and the occasional sniffle, as those present reflected on the loss of a great knight.

Jaehaerys stood beside the bier, his face pale and drawn with grief. Ser Ryam had been like a second father to him, a mentor who had instilled in him the values of chivalry, honor, and justice. The prince struggled to maintain his composure, his hands clenched at his sides. Daemon stood by his side, a comforting presence, his usual bravado tempered by a rare display of solemn respect. Garth, Ser Ryam's nephew, was also there, his face a mask of sorrow, mourning both the loss of his uncle and a man he greatly admired.

As the High Septon concluded his prayers, a series of eulogies followed. Jaehaerys stepped forward, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "Ser Ryam Redwyne was not only the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard; he was a guiding light, a paragon of knightly virtues. He taught me what it means to be a true knight, to uphold justice and protect the innocent. His counsel was invaluable, and his loyalty unwavering. The realm has lost a great man, and I have lost a mentor and a friend."

Daemon spoke next, his voice carrying a rare tone of reverence. "Ser Ryam was a knight who commanded respect not through fear, but through his integrity and honor. He served the realm faithfully, and his legacy will endure long after we are gone. He was a man worthy of the white cloak, and we will never see his like again."

Garth, struggling to keep his emotions in check, shared a few words about his uncle's kindness and the lessons he imparted. "Uncle Ryam was a pillar of strength and wisdom. He taught me to face challenges with courage and to hold fast to my principles. His loss is a great blow, not just to our family, but to all who knew him."

After the eulogies, the High Septon led the assembly in a final prayer, invoking the Stranger to guide Ser Ryam's soul to the afterlife. The knights of the Kingsguard, in their shining white armor, then approached the bier. Each knight, in turn, laid a hand on Ser Ryam's chest, a silent vow to continue his legacy of service and honor.

As the ceremony concluded, the assembled nobles and courtiers filed out of the sept, leaving the royal family to say their final farewells in private. Jaehaerys lingered by the bier, his eyes closed in silent prayer. Daemon placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and Garth stood by, offering quiet support.

The loss of Ser Ryam Redwyne was keenly felt throughout the realm. He had been a symbol of the ideals that the Kingsguard aspired to, a knight of impeccable honor and courage. His death marked the end of an era, and his absence left a void that would not easily be filled. As the Targaryen family exited the sept, their faces set in grim determination, they knew that they must carry on, upholding the values and principles that Ser Ryam had embodied throughout his life.

—

In a dimly lit, lavishly decorated brothel on the Street of Silk, Daemon Targaryen, Garth Redwyne, and Ser Harwin Strong sat around a low table cluttered with empty tankards and bottles of ale. The trio, deep in their cups, mourned the recent loss of Ser Ryam Redwyne. The room buzzed with laughter and the soft murmur of voices, but the atmosphere around the three men was heavy with grief and the haze of alcohol. They were surrounded by courtesans and sycophants, trying to distract themselves from their sorrow with drink and debauchery.

Daemon, sprawled in his chair, raised a half-empty tankard. "To Ser Ryam," he slurred, his voice tinged with a mix of sadness and defiance. "The best damn knight I've ever known."

Garth, looking slightly more composed but equally despondent, nodded solemnly. "He was a true knight, one of a kind. We'll never see his like again."

Ser Harwin, staring into his drink, murmured, "He was a good man. A better man than most."

As they wallowed in their grief, the door to the brothel swung open, and two figures strode in with purpose. Rhea Royce, Daemon's wife, entered first. She was a striking woman with a strong presence, her bronze hair and sharp features giving her an imposing air. Daemon often referred to her disdainfully as his "Bronze Bitch," a moniker born out of their rocky relationship. Despite their turbulent history, there was an undeniable tension between them, a mixture of unresolved conflict and suppressed attraction.

Behind Rhea came Lady Myrcella Penrose, a noblewoman of quiet grace and strength. She had caught Garth's eye, and though he had not yet acted on his feelings, there was a budding attraction between them. Myrcella's serene demeanor contrasted sharply with the bawdy atmosphere of the brothel.

The room quieted as the two women approached the table. Daemon looked up, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Rhea, my dear wife," he drawled sarcastically. "Come to join the party?"

Rhea's eyes narrowed, and she placed her hands on her hips, exuding an aura of authority. "Enough of this, Daemon," she snapped, her voice cutting through the haze of the room. "You all should be ashamed. Ser Ryam was a knight of honor, and here you are, drowning your sorrows in ale and whores."

Daemon's grin faltered, and he straightened slightly, a flicker of guilt crossing his features. "Rhea, we're just... mourning him in our way."

"By dishonoring his memory?" Rhea shot back, her tone sharp. "You have a Trial by Seven to prepare for, or have you forgotten?"

Garth looked up, his gaze meeting Myrcella's. Her eyes were soft yet firm, and he felt a pang of guilt. She deserved better than to see him like this. Myrcella stepped closer, her voice gentle but resolute. "Garth, Ser Ryam would not want you to wallow in grief. He would want you to be strong, to stand tall and honor him by being the best knight you can be."

Garth swallowed, nodding slowly. "You're right, Myrcella. I... I've been acting like a fool."

Rhea turned her gaze to Daemon, her expression softening slightly. "Daemon, you may not care for me, but you have a duty to your family and to the realm. This isn't you."

Daemon met her eyes, a myriad of emotions passing between them. For a moment, the tension between them seemed almost palpable, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. Finally, Daemon sighed, pushing his tankard away. "You're right, Rhea. This isn't me. Or at least, it shouldn't be."

Rhea nodded, her expression softening. "Good. Now, get up. We have work to do. The Trial by Seven is fast approaching, and you need to be ready."

The courtesans and sycophants around them began to disperse, sensing the shift in atmosphere. Ser Harwin, who had been silent throughout the exchange, looked up with newfound resolve. "Lady Rhea's right. We can't afford to lose focus now."

With a final, regretful glance at the table, the three men stood, shedding the remnants of their drunken stupor. They followed Rhea and Myrcella out of the brothel, leaving behind the murky comfort of their grief. As they stepped into the streets of King's Landing, the cool night air sobering them further, they felt a renewed sense of purpose. The Trial by Seven was looming, and they had a duty to honor Ser Ryam's memory by fighting with the strength and honor he had always embodied.

—

In the dimly lit chambers of the Red Keep, Prince Jaehaerys sat slumped in a chair, a bottle of Firewhiskey clutched in his hand. His usually sharp eyes were clouded with grief and alcohol, a rare vulnerability on display. Across from him, Vaelar Targaryen, his close friend and confidant, watched with concern, his brow furrowed in frustration.

"Jaehaerys, enough," Vaelar urged, his voice firm yet gentle. "Drowning yourself in Firewhiskey won't bring Ser Ryam back. You need to be strong, especially now."

Jaehaerys took another swig from the bottle, grimacing as the fiery liquid burned down his throat. "Vaelar, he was like a second father to me," he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "I should have done more... I should have..."

Vaelar reached out, placing a hand on Jaehaerys' shoulder. "You honored him in life, and you will honor him in death. But this... this isn't the way."

As Jaehaerys looked up, the door to the chamber opened, and Laena Velaryon and Rhaenyra Targaryen entered, accompanied by Mel, their expressions a mix of concern and determination. Both women, betrothed to Jaehaerys, shared a bond with him that transcended mere duty. They exchanged a glance before approaching the despondent prince.

Rhaenyra, her usual fire tempered with compassion, stepped forward. "Jaehaerys," she said softly, her voice carrying a note of tenderness. "We've all lost someone dear to us. Ser Ryam was a great knight, and his passing is a loss for all of us. But he wouldn't want to see you like this."

Laena, her eyes bright with unshed tears, nodded in agreement. "He believed in you, in your potential to be a great ruler. Drinking yourself into oblivion won't honor his memory."

Jaehaerys looked between the two women, his grip on the bottle loosening. "Laena, Rhaenyra... I... I don't know how to deal with this," he admitted, his voice cracking with emotion. "He taught me everything about being a knight, about honor. How can I face the Trial by Seven without him?"

Mel, standing slightly apart, spoke up, her voice calm and reassuring. "You face it with the same strength and courage that Ser Ryam instilled in you. He may not be here in body, but his spirit lives on in you and in all those he touched. You must lead, Jaehaerys, for him, for yourself, and for the realm."

Vaelar, taking the opportunity, gently took the bottle from Jaehaerys' hand and set it aside. "She's right, Jaehaerys. We have to prepare, not just for the trial but for the future. You are not alone in this."

Jaehaerys looked around at the faces of those who cared for him, his vision clearing as he fought back the tears. He felt the weight of their expectations, their hopes, and their unwavering support. Taking a deep breath, he stood, his legs unsteady but his resolve firming.

"You're right," he said, his voice stronger now. "I can't let grief consume me. Ser Ryam wouldn't want that. I need to be the prince he believed I could be."

Rhaenyra stepped closer, taking his hand in hers. "We'll face this together, Jaehaerys. All of us. You're not alone."

Laena placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "We believe in you. Now, let's focus on what needs to be done. The Trial by Seven is coming, and we need to be ready."

With a nod, Jaehaerys straightened his posture, the weight of his grief still heavy but manageable. He knew the path ahead would be difficult, filled with challenges and uncertainty. But with his friends, his betrothed, and his loyal companions by his side, he felt a glimmer of hope.

Together, they left the chamber, their spirits bolstered by their shared determination. The time for mourning was not over, but they had a duty to fulfill, and they would face it with the courage and honor befitting the memory of Ser Ryam Redwyne. The Trial by Seven awaited, and they would meet it head-on, united and unyielding.

—

In a dimly lit chamber within the Red Keep, five of the Faith's chosen champions—Ser Gwayne Hightower, Ser Criston Cole, Lord Jasper Wylde, Lord Jason Lannister, and Lord Borros Baratheon—gathered around a large wooden table. The air was thick with tension, their faces grim as they awaited the arrival of the High Septon and Ser Otto Hightower, who had convened this clandestine meeting.

The door creaked open, and the High Septon entered, followed closely by Otto Hightower. They took their places at the head of the table, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across their faces.

Otto surveyed the room, his eyes narrowing as he addressed the gathered champions. "Gentlemen, the time is nearly upon us. The Trial by Seven will be a pivotal moment in the struggle for the soul of the realm. With Ser Ryam Redwyne's passing, Prince Jaehaerys is vulnerable. This is our chance to strike a decisive blow."

Ser Gwayne Hightower, a stern-faced man with a rigid sense of duty, nodded. "Prince Jaehaerys will be reeling from the loss. We must exploit this opportunity to weaken him further."

Lord Borros Baratheon, his massive frame and battle-hardened demeanor making him an imposing presence, grunted in agreement. "The boy is soft. A few more losses and he'll crumble. We need to ensure that our champions are the strongest, to guarantee victory."

The High Septon, his expression serene but his eyes sharp, interjected. "We must remember that our cause is just. The Faith seeks to rid the realm of the ungodly influence of Prince Jaehaerys and his ilk. This trial is not just a battle but a divine judgment."

Lord Jasper Wylde, known for his cunning, leaned forward. "We need to finalize our roster. We have five of our seven champions here, but who will the remaining two be?"

Otto's gaze flicked to Ser Criston Cole, who had been silent thus far. The knight's face was a mask of restraint, hiding the inner turmoil caused by his conflicted feelings for Rhaenyra Targaryen. "Ser Criston, you are a key player in this. Do you have any suggestions for our remaining champions?"

Criston Cole glanced at Otto, his jaw tightening. "There are several knights who have pledged themselves to the Faith's cause. We could consider Ser Marq Rykker or Ser Rickard Thorne. Both are skilled and loyal to the Faith."

As they discussed potential candidates, a small rat scurried along the baseboards, unnoticed by the men. The rat paused, its beady eyes watching, listening intently. Larys Strong, hidden away in his chambers, was warged into the creature, absorbing every word of their conversation.

Otto leaned back, a calculating smile on his lips. "We must choose carefully. The remaining champions must be not only skilled but also unwavering in their loyalty. Our goal is not merely to win the trial but to deliver a decisive message to the realm."

The High Septon nodded in agreement. "Indeed. We must show that the Faith's strength is greater than the might of dragons. Let this trial be a testament to our resolve and righteousness."

As the meeting continued, Larys took note of every name and strategy mentioned. Though Jaehaerys was grieving, he was far from vulnerable. With Larys' abilities, the prince was privy to the Faith's plans, allowing him to remain several steps ahead of his enemies.

The rat quietly slipped away, its small form disappearing into the shadows. The champions of the Faith, along with Otto and the High Septon, continued their plotting, unaware that their every word had been overheard. As they finalized their plans, a sense of foreboding settled over the room. The Trial by Seven was approaching, and with it, the fate of the realm hung in the balance.

---

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