27

Chapter Twenty Seven

Eastwood

The Next Day

Garon POV

Garon Baratheon, Lord Regent of Storm's End, walked with a skip in his step, as he made his way to the King's chambers. After the pleasant turn of events yesterday, he had after many nights, finally slept well. They had routed Borys and his allies, the belligerent Lords were prisoners and the King had witnessed the Will. Were it not for the fact that his brother was dead, Garon would have been exultant.

But he was not. For Borys was dead. Rogar barely a turn of the moon ago and now Borys. Borys may have been a traitor, but he had been his brother first. Garon still remembered how the five of them would play in the yard when they were boys. Little Orryn and Ronnal would cheer from the side as the three eldest brothers would play at knights.

Those had been good days. But then their parents had passed, Rogar had fucked off to King's Landing, Borys fell deeper into his depravities and Garon had been left to care for his brothers and their children. And now, he was the only one of his brothers left.

Oh how his father would weep, if he had been alive to see how low House Baratheon had fallen. The once mighty Lords of Storm's End, who had briefly served as Regents of Westeros itself, now reduced to a third son and four babes barely out of swaddling.

Much work needed to be done to set things right. The vultures would begin circling soon. The decisions made today would decide the future of House Baratheon for generations to come.

The King had summoned him to his chambers. He would hold court later today and formally hear the testimony of the captured Lords of Houses Buckler, Fell, Trant and Connington. But even the King knew that was a formality at best.

The Lords had declared for Borys Baratheon, even though they had received word from the Maester of Storm's End, verified by Garon and Ser Bruce Buckler, of Rogar's Will. Even so, they had chosen to call their banners for Borys, march on Eastwood and start a war.

They had sacked, pillaged, killed and raped as they made their way through Eastwood lands. Their crimes were numerous, grievous and heinous. And more importantly, not in doubt. The King had since morning, summoned various knights and lesser nobles in the belligerent Lords' service, who had marched on Eastwood to give their testimony in exchange for clemency.

The men in question had been more than willing to give a rather detailed accounting of the crimes of their Lords, firmly placing the blame on their heads, claiming themselves to be silent spectators who had begrudgingly and with great reluctance followed the commands of their Lords.

Garon had never heard a bigger load of horse shit in his life, but their testimonies served his cause well and so he had watched silently as the Buckler, Fell, Trant and Connington's own retainers dug their Lords' graves.

Their accounts were of course verified by Eastwood's own men, with the Steward and others giving a rather detailed accounting of the death and destruction inflicted upon Eastwood lands by the enemy. With each testimonial, Jaehaerys's face grew more grim and internally Garon could only celebrate as he sensed the King's anger at the Lords in question, grow.

The Lords would of course claim that they were deceived by Borys, but that was inconsequential. There were better ways of verifying the validity of a will than raising armies and attacking the lands of another Lord. The four of them would go down. The only question that now remained was how far.

Oh he'd heard out his allies well enough. Aelon and Adam had approached him earlier in the morning and conveyed their expectations. Most were reasonable, but there were some points which he knew he could not concede. If he rewarded them too greatly, they may one day become a greater threat to House Baratheon than Borys and his allies had ever been.

And so he reached the King's office where the two of them would together deliberate on today's occurrences. It was a tricky situation to be honest. As Lord Regent, dispensing justice would ideally be his prerogative when involving belligerent and treacherous Lords in his own lands. However, the fact that Boremund was the King's half brother and that one of the traitors had been his own elder brother, meant that the law was not very clear on whether the King or the Lord Regent would be responsible for casting judgement.

And so, it had been decided that the two would cast judgement together. Even so, Garon was under no illusions as to who the real power in this court was. He needed Jaehaerys's support. The presence of the King would show that the Royal Family stood in solidarity with House Baratheon and stave off the circling vultures.

As he reached the King's chambers he was greeted by the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, "His Grace is expecting you Lord Garon," said Ser Gyles as he let him into the room.

Seated at the desk, reading a sheaf of paper, King Jaehaerys looked up at him and said, " Ah, Lord Garon, you're here. Good. I was hoping to speak to you before we hold court."

"Indeed Your Grace. I had some thoughts as well that I wished to share with you."

The King only nodded slightly as he gestured to the chair next to him, "Aye. Please, take a seat."

""I was having a look at this report that Lord Eastwood shared with me. It is…..comprehensive to say the least," continued the King as he passed the report to Garon.

"That is what I have come to expect from House Eastwood. Aelon is nothing if not competent."

"Yes that seems to be the case," replied Jaehaerys, "but regardless, the report itself details rather substantial loss of life and property. Some of the numbers seem a little extravagant but that is to be expected."

Garon nodded as he skimmed through the report again. He had read it earlier, a copy being furnished to him as well, but obviously not in as great depth as the King had. The report itself basically stated that Eastwood had incurred damages to the tune of one hundred and thirty thousand gold dragons due to Borys and his allies's actions and explained the metric of the said calculation.

"While some of these claims are superficial, I find myself concluding that the dragon's share of these claims are valid. I would of course still need some time to verify, but even now I can see that Lord Eastwood is going to receive a rather substantial sum of gold," concluded the King.

"Indeed, Your Grace," said Garon as he digested the fact that the King of Westeros had read in full the entire report, all sixty pages of it, in front of him and analysed it so thoroughly. A report that Garon himself had barely skimmed through.

"Lords Errol and Tarth should of course also receive weregild from the defeated Houses for the lives of their men that were lost or injured and the cost they have incurred in raising and marching with their armies," suggested the King.

"Aye. I was thinking the same. And as far as ransoms go, I have spoken to Lords Eastwood, Tarth and Errol and they are amenable to releasing their prisoners as long as their Houses cough up the sum demanded," replied Garon as he kept the report aside.

"As long as the ransom demanded is not unreasonable, I have no problems with that," said Jaehaerys.

And so the conversation continued between the Regent of the Stormlands and the King of Westeros as they went through the gathered testimonies and discussed the various minutiae of the upcoming trial.

"Very well. That seems appropriate," said Jaehaerys as he nodded at Garon's suggestions, "Now that we have dealt with everything else, let us address the dragon in the room. Punishments and rewards."

"Aye," said Garon as he leaned forward and continued.

"Needless to say, the guilt of Lords Buckler, Fell, Trant and Connington is clear. Even if we were to believe that they were indeed deceived by Borys," the King let out a rather uncharacteristic snort of laughter at that, "they still broke the King's Peace and ravaged the lands of a fellow Lord while attempting to capture or kill me and Boremund."

"Aye. The whole mess stinks something fierce. I agree with you Lord Garon. The Lords were well aware of exactly what they were doing and its implications. They must be punished accordingly," agreed Jaehaerys with a deep set frown on his face.

"Not just punished, Your Grace. An example must be made. Borys, aided by Buckler, Fell and Trant men butchered my entire household in Storm's End. Your half brother, my daughter and I were forced to flee like cravens in the dark of night. Eastwood was attacked, the lands ravaged and the Keep sacked. Such actions are beyond the pale and must be punished most severely," raged Garon.

"I do not disagree with you, Lord Garon. But we must temper ourselves. We must balance our rage with mercy. The Lords have erred. Greatly at that. And they will be punished. But we must not go too far. There is a fine line between justice and cruelty."

"Proportional? Your Grace, these curs broke the King's Peace at a time when the Stormlands are warring with Vulture King in Dorne. They attempted line theft in a manner so brazen and heinous that even the Dornish would baulk at their wanton violence. How can we show mercy then?"

Jaehaerys shook his head as he replied calmly, "The punishment should be proportional to the crime. The King's Justice must be impartial and fair regardless of sentiment. Boremund is my brother as well. I rage as you do even though I do not show it. If we allow our emotions to rule us and savage the carcasses of our enemies after they have been defeated, then we are no different from Maegor. I thought House Baratheon would understand that better than most."

"House Baratheon has stood by your side against Maegor, Your Grace. We are the Crown's leal servants. But if my brother Rogar were alive today and had his way, he would see our enemies severely punished for their actions," said Garon, incensed at the King's words.

"And if Rogar had had his way a few years ago, I would not be King," replied Jaehaerys, his tone quiet, but his words carrying the weight of mountains.

Silence fell across the room for a few moments as Garon realised his error and reigned in his temper. In a single sentence, Jaehaerys had turned the tables on Garon. It was a reminder that while House Targaryen stood with House Baratheon today, not too long ago, Garon's brother had attempted to set aside Jaehaerys and crown young Aerea Targaryen as Queen in his stead. It was a reminder that while old slights had been forgiven, they had not been forgotten.

"I understand your anger, Lord Garon," continued Jaehaerys, giving Garon a lifeline, "and the punishment for these Lords will be most severe. But it shall be proportional to their crimes."

"Aye, Your Grace," said Garon, his tone contrite.

"Excellent. Now why don't you tell me what you had in mind," the King was unsurprised to see the victorious Baratheon's lips twitch in a feral smile.

Eastwood

Later that Day

Bryce POV

'Fucking cunts,' thought Bryce Buckler, as he sat seething in his cell.

A fucking cell.

He, the Lord of Bronzegate, a veteran of countless battles, was now rotting in the cell of some upjumped bastard lordling.

What a clusterfuck.

It had all seemed so simple. Borys was the eldest brother. Garon was the younger. The laws of the realm and thousands of years of traditions were on their side. Piss on the Will.

Even if the Will was real, which even he knew could be the case, it would matter little since Garon Baratheon would be dead and with no other claimants to the Regency, they could argue that Rogar had been feverish and delusional when he had dictated the Will on his deathbed.

Or at least so he had thought.

It hadn't been one bad decision that had resulted in this mess. But a series of bad decisions. When Borys had joined up with him, his men in his retinue, who had been deputed to Borys at Storm's End, had reported to him that the Will had supposedly been written in Rogar's hand.

The very idea that a feverish and delusional man would be able to write a will in his own hand was laughable and only further went on to discredit its validity. Even so, he had been perturbed by the reports that his men had participated in what was essentially the slaughter of the Baratheon Household in Storm's End. Despite that, he decided to press ahead. He had already attacked the Keep, disastrous though it was. But he was committed to the course of action at that point.

And so he rationalised that once they conquered Eastwood, he would burn the Will and kill Garon, thereby invalidating it altogether. It had seemed a reasonable course of action back then. Borys would ascend to the regency, and while Connington may have Jocelyn Baratheon, he'd see to it that Boremund was promised to one of his granddaughters.

And then news came that Garon Baratheon had sent the Will ahead to Tarth along with Boremund and his daughter. They'd have the Will declared a well crafted forgery, he'd rationalised then. And then he'd proceeded to assault the walls of Eastwood. What a disaster that had been.

And so here he lay languishing in a cell. His fellow lords as his neighbours. They'd spent the first few hours arguing, screaming and passing the blame onto each other. But eventually, they just…..stopped. Exhaustion, the grief of loss and the weight of defeat laying on them heavily.

His sons. His sons were dead. Dead through his folly. Dead because he chose to throw his lot in with Borys Baratheon. Oh how he had shamed himself. His House would bear the shame of his defeat for generations. And he would bear the guilt far longer than that. A small part of him thought quietly.

In hindsight, this whole endeavour had been a fool's gambit. At the time, it did not seem so. But now, well the results spoke for themselves. His father had always said, 'History is written by the victors.'

And he had not been victorious.

Garon, Eastwood and his lot would spin their tale. And with Borys dead, whether or not the Will was a forgery would be irrelevant altogether. Unless someone rode up from the Marches and confirmed that the Rogar had never written such a Will, Bryce and his allies were fucked.

Even then, chances were that any such messenger would be either killed or bribed into silence by Garon Baratheon and his allies. It was what he would have done as well.

They'd had no news these past few days. Except for one gloating guard who had informed them that the King had arrived and they would be summoned for their trial today.

With hushed whispers, the three of them had agreed, they would question the validity of the will and ask for judgement to be reserved until the Will was validated. It would buy time for their respective families to bring to the fore some level of pressure to ensure leniency by leveraging their influence and relationships in the Stormlands.

Connington, however, remained silent. The Lord of Griffin's Roost had not spoken a word since he had been placed in the cells with them. The only indication that the man still lived was the occasional sound of his spoon scraping against the plate when food was served to them. Even when Bryce had screamed at him and Edric had cajoled him, the man did not speak.

Connington…..worried him. They needed a united front.

And so Bryce despaired. And as he despaired, the doors of his cell were thrown open and he was faced by armed guards.

"Time to git up Buckle', da King's 'ere. Looks to me like sommin's gonna loose deh' 'ead today," said the gaoler as he unshackled him.

Slowly but surely, he and his fellow lords were led away. As they walked, he caught the eyes of Jasper and Edric, the two nodding at him. Good, they'd give the same account as he. He tried making eye contact with Connington but the cunt was looking straight ahead.

Eventually, they were escorted into the hall where the King was presiding.

Buckler had only ever met King Jaehaerys once, when the young man had been crowned. He'd bent his knee, sworn fealty and moved on, as had the dozen other Lords who'd accompanied him. At the time, the King had been barely a man grown. It had been many years since then.

Bryce didn't care much for the King. The man was not a warrior. He had not won the throne through conquest. It had been men like him who had fought alongside Rogar against Maegor's forces, while Jaehaerys cowered behind his mother's skirts. And then Maegor had died somehow and Jaehaerys found himself King.

Jaehaerys sat regally on a high backed chair at the end of the Hall. The young lad he had seen all those years ago had been replaced by a man. A rather effeminate one in Bryce's opinion. But then again, all those Valyrians looked like pansies. Seated by his side was Garon Baratheon, and Bryce stifled the urge to spit in his direction. Moreso when he spotted Eastwood, Errol and Tarth standing at the side.

He walked forward, head held high, he'd die before he lost his dignity before this lot of craven sons of whores. As he approached the King, he knelt as did the Lords with him. He had his pride, but he was not foolish. He'd heard the roar of the dragon when it had arrived. The walls had shook and the bars of his cell had rattled. He had no intention of pissing off the man who commanded such a monstrosity.

"Lord Bryce Buckler of Bronzegate, Lord Edric Fell of Felwood, Lord Jasper Trant of Gallowsgrey and Lord Evan Connington of Griffin's Roost," announced the herald as they knelt before the King.

"Read the charges bailiff," commanded Jaehaerys.

"Attempted Line Theft, Breaking the King's Peace, Rape, Arson, Murder…."

The rest of the charges went unheard to Bryce as the first three words rang in his mind. Attempted Line Theft?

The King of Westeros had allowed the charge of line theft in his court.

"How do you plead to these charges, my lords?" questioned Garon Baratheon, as the coward finally spoke up.

"Not guilty, Your Grace. We only followed the orders of our rightful liege, Ser Borys Baratheon. As the eldest surviving brother, he was the rightful Regent of the Stormlands," replied Edric Fell as he practically pleaded before the King.

"And yet, Lord Rogar, vide his Last Will and Testament, named Ser Garon as Regent. Do you deny that you received word of it from Storm's End," intoned Jaehaerys.

"We did, Your Grace. But it was an obvious lie. The laws of the land are very clear in this regard. The elder comes before the younger," replied Bryce.

"Exceptions can be made, Lord Buckler. The law is well settled in that regard as well," countered Adam Errol as he finally spoke up from the side.

"But there was no conceivable reason for Lord Rogar to do so. And so it was clear to us that this Will was a fabrication. A figment conjured up or forged by Garon Baratheon and his allies in their attempt at Line Theft. Garon has always been ambitious beyond measure. Grasping beyond his station. It was clear to us that the man sought the Regency for himself." responded Bryce, his confidence growing as he spoke even as the gathered court nearly drowned out his words in their outrage.

"Furthermore, my Lord. The Will has never been produced before us for verification. Even when we parlayed with Lords Eastwood and Errol, in our attempt to peaceably resolve this dispute, they spat in our faces and did not produce the Will. This is only further proof of deceit on their end."

At that, the Hall nearly erupted in cries of rage and anger as the gathered nobility hurled curses at Bryce for his words against their Lords. To his credit, the King but held up a hand and within moments the Hall fell silent once more.

Once decorum was restored, the Bastard of Eastwood spoke up, "The Will was sent forth to Tarth, my Lord for safekeeping. And even if it hadn't been, we would have to be fools to hand over such an invaluable document to you."

"You see Your Grace," cried out Bryce, as he pointed at Eastwood, "nothing but lies and deceit. Lies to cover up previous lies. What more can you expect from a man who but a few years ago was a peasant himself, and a bastard to boot. You would take the word of the bastard grandson of Gargon the Guest, over that of the ancient bloodlines of the Stormlands?"

Again, more outrage as the gathered crowd raged once more at the insult dealt to their Lord. Bryce just smiled at that. Let the riff raff rage. His words were aimed at the King. Perhaps there was a chance after all.

However, if Bryce's hopes were a ship, then that ship set sail, crashed and sunk to the bottom on the Narrow Sea as the King spoke, "You may be of noble blood of the Stormlands, Lord Buckler, yet your words remind me of the lowliest curs that are locked in the Black Cells of King's Landing. Time and again, you insult Lord Garon, Lord Eastwood and their allies, even as they stand victorious and you languish in a cell."

As Bryce tried to speak up when the King paused, the King just held up his hand. At that moment, as Bryce looked into the King's eyes, he saw but a hint of anger, quickly though it was concealed as the King collected himself and continued.

"Furthermore, as far as the Will goes, my Lords. It is you who are in the wrong. The Last Will and Testament of Rogar Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, is valid and true. It's validity is beyond question, for I witnessed it myself."

Pin drop silence for a moment. And then exaltation. Some cheered, some laughed and some jeered insults as Bryce and his fellow Lords could do nothing but stare at the King in aghast silence.

Next to him he saw Jasper Trant's knees wobble and give out as he fell to the floor, barely holding himself up with his arms. Even the stony silent visage of Evan Connington was broken as the man let out a strangled gasp at the King's words.

Off to the side, he saw Garon Baratheon with a look of smug satisfaction on his face and Adam Errol looking at him with a predatory smile. As a lion would look at a mouse he was about to make a meal of.

And as Bryce Buckler knelt before the King, as his entire world collapsed around him, his eyes met those of Aelon Eastwood. The man had no smile on his face like Adam Errol. No smug satisfaction like Garon Baratheon. His face was blank. But his eyes…those violet eyes smouldered with suppressed anger and rage. Those eyes promised him naught but pain and suffering.

And so Bryce Buckler realised.

He was fucked.

Eastwood Town hall

Aelon POV

Even as the Hall jeered, celebrated and laughed at the King's words, I did nothing but stare as Bryce Buckler's eyes met my own.

For ten years, the man had been a thorn in my side. And in the past ten minutes, he had again insulted my heritage, my roots and my family. And so I stared at him. My eyes promising, that even if the King offered mercy today, I would make it my life's goal to see him, his family and his House, beggared and tarnished in the coming years.

Even as the crowd transitioned from celebrating to hurling insults at the kneeling Lords, the King chose not to raise his hand to bring order. Perhaps, like me, he relished their humiliation. Perhaps he wanted to make a point by humiliating the stunned Lords on trial. The Gods alone knew. But either way, I did not call for order either.

Eventually, the noise died down and Brynden decided to speak up, "No words, Lord Buckler?" Taunted the Lord of Evenfall Hall.

The man in question, spluttered and eventually managed to speak up, "Then we were deceived, Your Grace. I swear on the Seven, I knew not about this. Borys deceived me, Your Grace."

Similar sentiments were echoed by the Lords kneeling with him as they grovelled and pleaded before the King. Such a sweet sight it was. Oddly though, Evan Connington remained mostly silent throughout.

It was at this point that Garon decided to twist the dagger, "Even if we were to believe that you were deceived, which we do not, it still does not explain your actions. Your men aided Borys in butchering the household of Storm's End, you yourselves raised your armies and attacked Eastwood, savaging the lands and its people. Why do so, when a simple letter to the King, requesting his mediation would have sufficed instead."

"M-My Lord…." spluttered Edric Fell before I interrupted him.

"I'll tell you why, my Lord," I addressed Garon, "Greed and Hate. Borys Baratheon promised them the riches of Eastwood, Tarth and Haystack Hall. Buckler, Fell and Trant have long hated us. They hated us for breaking the mould. They envied our wealth and prosperity and decried us for our innovation and creativity. They have had designs on our lands and wealth far before Lord Rogar's untimely death."

I took a breath as I paused and looked directly at Bryce Buckler as I continued, "Why would they seek mediation when they felt their goals were within their grasp. For how would they rape and pillage my lands and bring their enemies low if the King mediated. So they attacked. So they broke the King's Peace. Not to rescue Boremund as they so laughably claim, but to kill Garon and seize control of the Stormlands while the King and the remaining Stormlords fight in the Marches."

As I finished speaking, my words were met with roars of approval as the men cried out in outrage as I outlined Buckler's plan before them. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Buckler's face rapidly paling as he heard my words and observed the King's lips turn down into a grim frown as he spoke up.

"Lord Eastwood's words ring true. I find myself agreeing with him. What do you have to say for yourself, my Lords?"

"Your Grace," cried out Buckler, "I beg of you. There was no conspiracy here. We are good, honest men. Loyal servants of House Baratheon and the Crown. For centuries we have served loyally and we shall do so for centuries more. We received an order from Borys Baratheon, whom we believed to be our rightful liege and so, oathbound, we followed."

"Oathbound you say," growled Jaehaerys, "if you were only following orders as you so claim, then why did you slaughter and rape hundreds of innocent smallfolk on your path to Eastwood? Why did you attack the Keep before Borys Baratheon arrived?"

"Y-Your Grace-" stuttered Bryce Buckler as he scrambled for words.

And then Evan Connington, who had remained mostly silent so far, decided to speak, "Your Grace, it is true that Borys Baratheon deceived us. He decried the will and we marched on Eastwood at his order. But when he came to me at Griffin's Roost, he told me that we were to march with our levies as a show of force only. To cow Garon Baratheon into submission. He deceived me, my Lord. I was utterly unaware that we would attack and break the King's Peace."

"Lying craven!" shouted Buckler, even as Connington ignored him and continued speaking.

"I was utterly aghast, Your Grace," the Lord of Griffin's Roost calmly continued, "when I arrived at Eastwood to find the Keep burnt and the army preparing to attack the town. It became clear then, Your Grace, that Borys and Buckler meant to bring House Eastwood low, but I believed that Borys was my liege and so I had no choice but to keep to my oaths. But, Your Grace, I took no part in the assault on Lord Aelon's Keep, nor in the bloody path that Buckler and Fell carved as they made their way to Eastwood."

At this point, the guard had to nearly restrain and gag Buckler and Felwood as they hurled insults and curses at Evan Connington, while Edric Fell just looked on with a stunned expression of shock and hurt on his face.

"And what of your own path to Eastwood? Did you not loot and sack as your made your way through these lands to join my brother? I do not believe Buckler was the only one to wreak havoc in Eastwood lands," questioned Garon.

Oh, it was quite evident to anyone with half a brain that Connington was lying through his teeth. But some of the points he raised were seemingly valid. Undoubtedly he had not participated in the siege of the keep, and possibly had even restrained his men from pillage.

The man was undoubtedly intelligent yet he had blundered in this conflict and he knew it. A smart man knew when to unbend his pride and beg forgiveness and it seemed Connington knew it was time for brown nosing.

"I restrained my men as best as I could, my Lord," Connington replied to Garon, "We took no part in the rapine and pillage. Ser Borys and his men were not inclined to do the same. I beg your forgiveness, my lord, for had I been more observant I may have known Ser Borys' story for the ruse it was and instead come to your aid."

"You lying cunt!" screamed Jasper Trant as he practically leapt forward to assault the Lord of Griffin's Roost before he was restrained by the guards.

The young Lord however, barely batted an eyelash before he continued addressing the court, "My Lords, Your Grace, I humbly do beg your forgiveness. But I beg of you to understand that my actions were not borne from maliciousness or envy, but out of a misguided sense of duty and to my deep regret, my own incompetence. I beg of you, Your Grace, punish not House Connington for my misdeeds. Be it on mine own head, I shall repent for my crimes. Allow me to take the Black, Your Grace, so I may live out my life in service of the realm, and regain my honour."

No response was heard from the King, nor from Garon, neither betraying any emotion as they heard the words of the apparently recalcitrant Lord of Griffin's Roost. The gathered members of the court had no such restraint though, as hushed whispers and soft jeers spread through the assembled crowd at Evan Connington's words.

"Your Grace," spoke up Edric Fell, perhaps sensing the shift in the air, and smelling opportunity, "while I may not agree with the words of Lord Connington to some extent, much of what he says rings true. I was but a follower here. House Fell has been allied through blood and bond with House Buckler for centuries. I was but following the orders and commands of the man I believed to be the rightful Regent and my own goodfather. I beg of you, Your Grace, extend your mercy. House Fell has been faithful to House Targaryen, and we shall remain so for centuries to come."

The young Lord of Felwood's brow was nearly touching the floor as he knelt so deeply before the King. It seemed that the revelation of the Will's validity had broked whatever united front the Lords possessed as they each sought mercy for themselves while throwing the rest under the metaphorical bus.

Rather than the appeasement the Lord intended it to be, the King appeared to be annoyed at the blatant sycophancy, "Enough. This trial has served its purpose and the guilt of the accused is obvious to me."

The muttering of those observing and the snarling of the defendants ceased immediately and once silence fell the King continued, "For the first part, it is abundantly clear that Houses Buckler, Fell, Trant and Connington are guilty of the crimes they have been accused of. An argument can be made that the Lords of the Houses in question acted independently and thus should be individually held responsible for their actions."

Jaehaerys paused for a breath and a glimmer of hope seemed visible on the faces of the guilty Lords before he ruthlessly crushed it with his following words, "However, such an argument is facetious and has no standing before this court. Houses Buckler, Fell, Connington and Trant gathered their levies, assembled their armies and broke the King's Peace. Several members of your families themselves participated in this treason and as such it is my ruling the aforesaid Houses shall be collectively and severally held responsible for the crimes that have been committed."

The would-be Conciliator motioned for Garon to continue, "The guilt of the Lords is clear. What remains is punishment and reward."

"My Lord…." spoke up Bryce Buckler, some form of last resort plea only to be silenced as Garon raised his hand to silence him.

"Enough, Lord Buckler, you had your chance when we parlied. You had your chance when I beseeched you, but a few days ago, to denounce violence and seek peace. You spat on my hand of friendship then. This court shall hear no more from your vile tongue, nor that of your peers."

"It is my judgement that lands and gold shall be the reparations to be forfeited by the guilty to the harmed parties. Hostages shall be handed over to keep the peace. And restrictions shall be placed on the number of men at arms and guardsmen the guilty Houses shall be allowed to employ for some years."

Sharp breaths were drawn from the kneeling Lords as the gathered nobility breathed out gasps of wonder. Reparations in the form of gold were not unheard of. Neither was giving up hostages or placing caps on the number of men at arms. But land, that was only reserved for the most grievous offences. And the fact that the King of Westeros was allowing such precedent, the first such of his rule, was a significant indicator of his political leanings and judgement.

At the Regent's indication, one of his own men handed him a scroll which he opened and began reading from, "House Fell will cede a fifth of their lands and pay twenty thousand dragons as reparations to House Eastwood. House Felwood will be allowed to employ at any time, no more than one hundred men at arms. Furthermore, Lord Edric Fell's son and heir, young Royce Fell, shall foster with House Errol until he attains his majority in order to build ties of friendship and trust between the two Houses."

Edric Fell let out a strangled gasp at that.

"Lord Edric Fell," called our Garon, "for your treason, and numerous other crimes committed, in most circumstances we would sentence you to death. But the King in his infinite mercy, acknowledges that you were perhaps following the lead of your own goodfather and in light of your own youth and naivety, we offer you the opportunity to take the Black instead."

The young Lord of Felwood looked distraught as he struggled to hold back a tide of emotions. His attempt to maintain some dignity was eventually futile as tears glistened in his eyes. After a few moments of silence the man eventually replied.

"I thank you for your mercy, Your Grace. With your leave, I shall take the Black to avoid any further disgrace to my House."

The King only nodded at that. Garon however barely managed to suppress a triumphant smirk as he looked at the defeated Lord before him.

"A loyal Regent shall be appointed by House Baratheon, to manage the affairs of House Felwood until young Royce finishes his fostering and returns to Felwood," said Garon as he hammered in the final nail in the coffin of Edric Fell, now, the Former Lord of Felwood.

"Lord Connington," called our King Jaehaerys, seemingly taking turns with Garon to dispense justice, "your sentencing is far more complex. Whilst you did raise forces to fight against your liege lord, you did not participate in the sack of the Keep of Eastwood. And while it is undeniable that you participated in the attack on the town, it likewise cannot be proven that you have pillaged to the same degree as the others. Whilst unlikely, it is certainly possible you are merely a simpleton and as such I do not find you guilty of treason. You will retain your life and your head."

The red haired Lord of Griffin's Roost let out a sigh of relief at that but even so his eyes seemed wary as he stared at the King, knowing that his punishment was yet to be announced.

"And while you shall retain your head, your House shall forever be shamed by your actions. House Connington will cede a fifth of its lands to House Baratheon. It shall also pay ten thousand dragons in reparations to House Baratheon and a further twenty thousand dragons to House Eastwood. Moreover, for a period of ten years, House Connington shall maintain no more than two hundred men at arms in its service. Finally, Your younger brother, Ronnet Connington, shall serve as a ward at Tarth, under the watchful eye of Lord Brynden, until he achieves his majority," proclaimed the King.

"I thank you for your mercy, Your Grace. House Connington shall forever be grateful to House Baratheon and House Targaryen for their mercy today. We shall be ever faithful servants," grovelled Evan Connington even as I could see the barest hint of a smile on his face.

Even as the gathered nobility whispered and grumbled at the relatively light punishment, I could not help but trade frowns with Brynden and Adam. At the very least, Connington should have been stripped of his Lordship and exiled. But somehow he retained not just his head but his Lordship as well.

A snake in the grass that one was. One that bore watching. His forces had been brutally efficient during the attack on Eastwood. The man had the most to gain from throwing his lot in with Borys, but somehow, had managed to wriggle out with relatively lighter punishment. I made an internal note to ask Warren to step up our intelligence gathering apparatus in Griffin's Roost as well.

Eventually, Garon raised his hand demanding decorum in the court. The man did not seem all that disappointed at the lack of severe punishment levied on Connington. In fact, the man seemed unperturbed. Perhaps he was getting better at hiding his emotions. Or perhaps he had left Connington alive to serve as a check against my own rising power bloc.

Interesting.

Regardless, the Regent began speaking again, this time addressing Jasper Trant, "Lord Trant, this court finds you as well guilty of Treason, breaking the King's Peace, Attempted Line Theft and a litany of other crimes. However, we also take into account that like Lord Connington, House Trant did not participate in the sack of the Keep."

Again, true. But only because his Keep was further away than the others and even then he'd dawdled before committing his forces to an attack.

"Your grandson, young Joffrey, shall squire under Lord Brynden Tarth where we pray that he will learn the chivalry and honour that previous generations of House Trant seem to have forgotten. Furthermore, House Trant shall maintain no more than a hundred men at arms in its service for the next ten years. And while House Trant shall lose no lands, it shall pay reparations to the tune of ten thousand dragons each to Houses Baratheon, Tarth and Errol and an additional twenty thousand dragons to House Eastwood," continued Garon.

"M-My Lord! That would beggar us….." spluttered the Trant Lord as he trembled before the court.

"Well, tis a good thing that it shall no longer be your concern as you shall either face the headsman or take the Black today," concluded Garon with what could only be described as pure glee on his face.

Unlike Edric Fell, Jasper Trant hardly even made an effort to retain some level of dignity as he fell to the floor sobbing much to the mirth of the entire court. Even as the man struggled to contain his sobs, the gathered nobles hooted, jeered and laughed at the sobbing lord of Gallowsgrey.

Even as the man's sobs ceased, and he slowly collected himself, someone at the back cried out, "So End Our Sobs!" which resulted in a fresh round of laughter.

A cruel, and yet hilarious, twist at the words of House Trant, 'So End Our Foes'.

Even the King's lips turned upwards slightly as he struggled to maintain his royal composure. The fallen Lord of Gallowsgrey could only wallow in his own misery as his humiliation became absolute.

"I will take the B-Black, my Lord," replied the man to the Regent as he slumped back in defeat.

But even as his words were spoken, my eyes were no longer on him. For my eyes were trained on only one man. Bryce Buckler. The fucking cunt who thought that he could attack me and mine and get away with it. I had been observing him intermittently for some time now. Every time judgement was pronounced on one of the Lords alongside him, his frown deepened and his own concern grew more pronounced. This was a man that knew that his end was nigh.

"Lord Bryce Buckler," thundered the Lord Protector of the Seven Kingdoms.

Every eye in the court turned to the young King, who thus far, did not deign to raise his voice. The King's expression was calm, but an undercurrent of anger was noticeable. There was a palpable tension in the air as the King glared at the Lord of Bronzegate, while the latter kept his eyes fixed to the ground, either out of fear or respect.

Most likely fear though.

"This court finds you guilty of Treason, Breaking the King's Peace, Line Theft and the dozen other lesser crimes listed earlier. For your crimes, House Buckler shall pay in reparations, thirty thousand dragons to House Eastwood and five thousand dragons each to Houses Errol and Tarth. For the next ten years, House Buckler, shall employ in its service, no more than two hundred men at arms. As your sons are dead, your grandson and heir, Bonifer Buckler shall take up the Lordship of Bronzegate. A suitable Regent shall be appointed to rule Bronzegate until he attains his majority. Until such a time, he shall serve as squire and ward to Lord Aelon Eastwood."

Silence for a second. And then rage. The Buckler Lord's eyes looked mad with anger as he glared daggers at the King and me. Fortunately for him, he was wise enough not to react physically even as he snarled and growled under his breath. Oh the sweet irony. That is grandson and heir, would be squire to the same upjumped bastard he had sought so desperately to see brought low.

His grandson was just nine namedays old and I took no pleasure in ripping a young lad from his family. Unfortunately for the lad, House Buckler was my principal neighbour, and its heir was of a similar age to my own children. Having him under my roof and tutelage could prove fruitful.

"Furthermore," continued Jaehaerys, "House Buckler shall forfeit an eighth of its land to House Errol and a further eighth to House Eastwood. And finally, you, Lord Bryce Buckler, are hereby sentenced to death. You may not take the Black and regain your honour. For even the Watch does not deserve the likes of you. You will die today Lord Buckler, and your House will forever bear your shame."

The man could only stare at the King. Aghast. Shocked. Terrified. Any of these words could be used to describe the look on his face. And yet in the end, the defiant Lord of Bronzegate, who had once, many years ago, after attacking my lands, shouted down Rogar Baratheon himself, during his own fucking trial, just deflated.

The fight left his body as the magnitude of his defeat and the impact of the King's words struck him simultaneously. The life left his eyes as he stared soullessly down at the floor. No sounds left his mouth as he just nodded listlessly. Eventually, the guards had to drag him away.

I smiled.