Dawn of the Trial

Edgar Yronwood woke up at dawn on the seventh day of his confinement, the day of the trial. Servants brought him breakfast and told him when the trial would start, he ate scrambled eggs, freshly baked bread with butter, and drank a mug of toasted ale.

With a full stomach he dressed in his best robe, fixed his hair, checked that his beard was neatly trimmed (a barber came the night before) and, for the first time in days, left the cell room.

Ser Lothar the Fierce with a dozen Martell guards were waiting for him outside.

"Ser Lothar," He said. "What a great honor to have a knight of such great renown accompany me."

The knight nodded curtly.

"The trial will be held in the throne room." Lothar's voice is revealing nothing but his eyes show his hostility.

Clearly the young knight doesn't like him.

"Well come on, we don't want to keep the princess waiting." Lord Yronwood replied with a wry smile.

Ser Lothar escorted him all the way with his hand on the hilt of his sword and his eyes watched him like a hawk, alert to his every move. The knight was practically hoping that he would do something foolish, something that would give him the perfect excuse to draw his sword and cut him open.

Edgar did not give him the pleasure and walked the whole way with the dignity and composure of a lord.

When the towering golden doors of the throne room opened he could feel all eyes on him. Hundreds of people had gathered to witness his trial. All the nobles present the day he was arrested were there, joined by everyone remotely important from both Shadow City and Progress Town, from merchants to sailors.

Lord Yronwood could even see members of the peasantry in the crowd.

It is clear that the princess wants this to be a show.

`I will not give you the satisfaction, Dorna Nymeros Martell, you won't win today.`

Edgar Yronwood ignored the sea of eyes and walked to the throne, back straight and head held high. In the center, the crowd had parted in two, allowing him to move forward unimpeded. With every step he took he heard the whispers and mutters of the men and women around him.

"Traitor."

"Fiend."

"Vile scum."

"How dare-."

"How could he-"

"I always knew they were not-"

He ignored them- until he saw his wife. Lady Brella was cloaked in a sandy-yellow velvet robe, with a gold necklace around her milky neck. She was pale and her eyes were red. Edgar hesitated for a moment when he saw her state, she had clearly been crying, the two shared a look and for that brief moment he attempted to assure her that everything would be fine.

Their children were by her side. For a moment he hesitated to look at them, afraid of what he would see in their faces. He doesn't know if what he fears is seeing hate or betrayal reflected in their eyes, or perhaps panic and fear.

He knows he doesn't have time for doubts, straightening his back he turns his head and looks at the twins.

Nysterica has dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, she is as pale as snow and she seems to be a gust of wind away from collapsing. Ormond isn't much better, but his boy puts on a brave face and holds his sister's hand firmly. Him comforting her even when he himself seems inconsolable.

Edgar feels a wave of heat, pride in his heir momentarily overwhelming him. He is grateful to have such a brave and thoughtful son.

`He will be a great lord one day, I am sure of it. I will make sure of it.`

With his determination rejuvenated he smiles at them and moves on.

On either side of the Princess of Dorne's throne are three chairs (her consort's throne had been removed from the room). On the chairs sat the judges.

Lord Gargalen is the same age, they both were born the same year but Tremond Gargalen always looked older, always felt older. Perhaps his harsh childhood, which left him with as many scars as wisdom, perhaps it is his hair that is more gray than black or his eyes that contain a wisdom more typical of an elderly decades older, but Edgar always felt like a child next to the wise and fair Lord Gargalen.

Even Jason Dayne, the oldest member of this group by a few decades, feels younger than Lord Gargalen.

`Not younger, more foolhardy or heedless.`

Lord Allyrion was sitting next to Lord Gargalen, between him and Lady Wyl (who was sitting to the right of Princess Dorna). Cedric Allyrion is a salty Dornishman through and through, daring, carefree and free spirited. At 41 years old he looks and feels much younger, even in this tense situation he is smiling and entertaining his peers with some joke or story. It must be something rather amusing judging by the smiles on Lord Gargalen and Lady Wyl`s faces.

On the other side of the princess sits the bored and obviously impatient Lord Dayne. Lady Megara Ladybright, who sits between him and Lord Manwoody, seems to want to be anywhere else, barely stopping herself from glaring at the elderly Lord. Martyn Manwoody seems to be holding back his laughter at Lady Megara's irritation.

The only person who has eyes on him is Dorna Martell, her golden eyes are cold and contain hidden mysteries.

***

Doran stood beside the Castellan of Sunspear, Manfrey Martell, watching Lord Edgar Yronwood move toward the judges.

`Seven gods, seven kingdoms, seven judges, seven days. Seven, seven, seven. An innocuous number in and of itself, no different to one, ten or five, but the meaning men give to it... At first glance it doesn't seem like something that would make much of a difference, but in the hearts of men everything is more complicated and convoluted than it should. I have already heard at least half a hundred people talk about how "holy" this trial is.`

The prince sighs in exasperation, religion always gives him headaches. He is neither an atheist nor an agnostic, he knows that the gods are real and publicly he is quite religious but in the privacy of his mind he would prefer the world of men and the world of gods to be completely separate. For good.

His grandmother rises from her throne and addresses the crowd.

"Honored men and women here present, you are here today to witness the trial of House Yronwood. A house as old as our kingdom, a house that a thousand years ago swore to serve House Nymeros Martell, oaths made in front of men and gods, oaths that in those thousand years they broke too many times.They deceived our gods and the good men and women of Dorne one last time.We were merciful in the past, we have been patient and we gave them plenty of second chances but there is a limit. And they are past that limit."

The voice of the Princess of Dorne echoes through the room, every man and woman silent, absorbing each word and nodding in agreement.

"Then, this trial shall now begin."

***

NOTE: This is the first time I write a trial, and this is a medieval-type trial, so I am out of my comfort zone. Please be patient with me.