61

Chapter 61: Interlude: JuryNotes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"The Middle Sister was stout and shapely, her beauty soothing and patient. Her hair was spun amethysts, her flesh carved from basalt. Her wings and halo were purest gold, radiant and warm, with feathers of paper, covered in writings, words and pictures. Her raiments were robes of grey linen, clean and flowing. A chain of many metals surrounded her neck. She held in her hands a scroll and quill.

'Young Prince, I shall counsel you Mercy.' The Angel declared. 'The stag has broken the laws of gods and men, but he is powerful and has many friends. Execute him and the Realm shall bleed. A lesser punishment is prudent.'

'It is a greater sin to throw the Realm into war just for the sins of one man. The wise warrior knows that he can protect his flock better if he keeps his sword in its scabbard. One should not seek out conflicts unless one has no choice.'

'You shall despair, you shall pray, but there is no recourse. Mercy is a path of lesser sins to avert greater ones. The compromise with evil is like the consumption of medicine. Bitter and hard, a path most loathe. But it is your duty as Prince to make the hard decisions yourself, when everyone else balks. Because it is necessary. Then, and only then, can we avert a meaningless war.'"

- The Dilemma of Judgement

111 AC, Red Keep Throne Room

"Let the record show that Contempt of Court is added to the list of charges the accused faces." Rhaenyra coldly said. "If he is unable to behave, then he shall not be allowed to attend this court for the rest of the duration of the trial."

The Hand of the King's declaration cut through the room like the crack of the whip. Everywhere the Prince of Dragonstone turned turned, the courtiers straightened backs and schooled features into neutrality.

Rhaenys winced at the words. It was bad enough that Rhaenyra intended on punishing Borros, but the idiot hadn't even had the decency to behave himself. Now he'd gotten himself tossed out of the courtroom in disgrace, and the Hand of the King had every right to withhold the more lenient sentence she'd promised.

It'd be a marvel if Uncle Boremund and her were able to persuade the Prince of Dragonstone to continue to grant mercy.

Gods, it was like Borros didn't want to be saved!

They'd wheedled and bargained, bent the neck of the Crown Prince as low as possible. All her cousin would have to do was confess his crimes, fake repentance, take a few hits of the cane and a little embarrassment, and the Hand of the King would have waived away a quarter of his punishment.

But noooo.

Borros just had to be unruly.

Fool should have just taken his lumps and left.

Now Rhaenyra had to be harsh on him. Anything less, and she'd suffer irreparable damage to her reputation and legitimacy. She couldn't be seen taking insults like that.

"It is against the law to deny a knight the right of Trial by Combat!" Someone spoke up. The crowd parted to reveal a knight in Belgrave livery.

"Order in the court!" The herald announced. "Only speak when spoken to!"

"Hold." Rhaenyra declined, pasting on one of her placid smiles. "Name yourself, Ser."

"Ser Gyles Belgrave, styled the Greycloak, your grace." The knight introduced himself.

"Why have you spoken up?" Rhaenyra pointedly asked. "There is a proper time and place for you to raise any concerns you have with the proceedings of this trial. Interrupting the proceedings is not the proper manner."

"Your grace, I bid apology, but this is a matter of great importance." The man replied. "A knight cannot be declined the right to Trial by Combat. It is a divine right given to him by the Seven! To deny such a request will invite damnation upon oneself.

"I beg that you reconsider, for the sake of your immortal soul!" Ser Gyles Greycloak pleaded.

Rhaenys squinted at the knight. She was pretty sure he was among the mutineers, but that didn't matter at the moment. The prosecution signalled that they sought right of reply, and the Hand of the King granted them that.

"The Trial by Combat is only reserved for when the guilt of the accused is in doubt." General Edric retorted. "We have sufficient evidence here for a conviction."

The Crown Prince nodded at that.

"Archsepton Eustace. Kindly confirm that statement." She ordered, turning to face the man in question.

Eustace frowned, but gathered several septons with him before speaking with them in hushed tones, copies of the Seven-Pointed-Star in their hands. For ten minutes or so they argued in hushed voices before the Archsepton turned to face the Hand of the King.

"It is true your grace." The man reluctantly replied. "The Seven allow a knight to take up his sword and prove his innocence with his body, but only if there is doubt of his guilt. However it is—"

"That is all, Archsepton." The Prince of Dragonstone smilingly interrupted, silencing him with a wave of her hand. "I shall refrain from deciding guilt until all evidence has been revealed and the prosecution and defence have finished. However, until the end of the trial, I shall not allow Ser Borros to request a Trial by Combat."

There was a roar of discontentment from the court, knights and lords clamouring for the right to speak, shouting over one another.

"Order! Order!" The herald ineffectually called, his voice drowned out by the uproar.

It took over a hundred legionnaires and half an hour to restore order to the court, the Prince of Dragonstone watching, stone-faced at the chaos.

"This is a trial regarding the deeds of a mortal man." Rhaenyra stated, her voice filled with tranquil fury. "Not a theological debate. My lords and ladies will keep your peace or be dismissed from the courtroom.

"Now then, let us resume with the proper proceedings of the court." The Hand of the King sternly said. "The prosecution may begin."

Rhaenys watched in sullen silence as the prosecution levelled charge after charge against Borros, the defence floundering, unable to dispute them. Cross-examining the witnesses was proving fruitless, as their stories were all consistent and clear. It was painting a damning picture very quickly.

The evidence was ironclad. There was documentation and multiple witness statements for everything. The amount of documentation was impressive, and Rhaenys was reluctantly impressed. Mayhaps the Crown Prince was correct about literacy and the Legions. The reports as they currently were already painted quite the damning picture.

It was almost a relief when they broke for an hour-long recess for lunch.

———

111 AC, Red Keep

"How did it go?" Rhaenys asked, Uncle Boremund shaking his head in reply.

"Damn." She cussed. "Idiot still wouldn't bend."

"My son is confident that he can win a Trial by Combat." Uncle Boremund gravelled. "And with the fiasco this morning, I am coming around to his point of view."

Rhaenys blinked.

"Uncle, you cannot be serious." She hoarsely replied. "You saw with your own eyes what Borros did. What he spoke was treason. Worse, he said it for the entire realm to hear! Rhaenyra has to execute him now."

"I am serious. Prince Rhaenyra has but a tenuous hold over the court. If we push, we can ditch this trial for a Trial by Combat." The Lord of Storm's End confirmed.

"You speak of betraying Rhaenyra." Rhaenys said, aghast. "You'll sink her reign before it even begins if you do that."

"If I have to choose between the Prince and my son, I will pick my son ten times out of ten." Boremund Baratheon declared firmly, his voice filled with conviction and determination.

"There is no need to escalate such." Rhaenys protested. "We can still find room for compromise."

"I've spoken to Archsepton Eustace. The man will support us in this. He promises that the High Septon will do the same. There's no love lost between Oldtown and Rhaenyra." Lord Boremund said, ignoring Rhaenys. "We can force a Trial by Combat.

"Borros is twenty-three and strong. He's a trained warrior and a fierce fighter. He can take any knight in this city. And who is left, anyway? Ser Steffon Darklyn? Ser Alys Royce? My son can take them. The best of them are with King Viserys. Rhaenyra only has the dregs left." The Lord Paramount finished, looking at Rhaenys expectantly.

"If Shaeterys leaves immediately, he can fly Lord Commander Cole or Ser Jessamyn Redfort back by tomorrow." Rhaenys warned.

"Better them than Rhaenyra." Lord Baratheon grunted. "She's tearing us apart in the courtroom. We need to flip the table on her and take the trial to the battlefield. That's the only way we can win."

"Don't." Rhaenys begged. Pleaded. "Please don't do that."

Rhaenyra's reputation would be ruined if her uncle did so. Being forced to knuckle to the demands of the court would be humiliating enough, but the Prince was perpetually on thin ice with the Faith. Using the Seven to strongarm her was a dirty and underhanded move. And she'd have to bend, making a travesty of justice. It'd be a disaster that could break her reign before it even began.

Rhaenyra was trapped between a rock and a hard place, and Boremund Baratheon was pushing them even closer together.

"I have no choice in the matter!" The Lord of Storm's End shouted. "She'll kill my son otherwise. You've seen the look on her face. No way is she going to let him live. Not after he publicly snubbed her."

"Then I shall have no part in this matter." Rhaenys coldly replied. "I'm on your side, uncle, but I refuse to backstab Rhaenyra."

"So you shall stand against me?" Her uncle warned, rising to his full height and glaring down at her. A tower of black steel and muscle, eyes stormy and face carved from cold unyielding stone.

"I shall neither help nor hinder you." Rhaenys conceded. "That is the best you can get from me."

———

111 AC, Red Keep Throne Room

The tone that afternoon was remarkably different than that of the morning.

Where the morning had been an efficient affair of reports and solid hard evidence, the afternoon saw a drastic drop in quality.

They were working their way through the minor crimes, each a little bit more damning than the last. These were mostly the charges that the prosecution didn't intend to press, as apparently they had insufficient evidence. Facts were being listed. Circumstantial evidence mostly, as well as victim testimonial, he-said-she-said and the like. In short, nothing that would land a solid conviction when the person being accused was the heir to one of the Seven Kingdoms and an anointed knight.

But then every so often they'd throw in one of the offences of which they had indisputable proof. Testimonials from reliable witnesses of high birth. Sons and daughters of Uncle Boremund's bannermen. Knights with flawless records of honour, gallantry and chivalry. Detailed records by the Legion healers.

Why?

Why were they bringing up all of these?

As part of the plea deal they'd struck with the Hand of the King, Borros would confess to the crimes for which there was no doubt of his guilt and in exchange, Rhaenyra would drop all of the accusations that the prosecution had no evidence for.

The exact same accusations that the prosecution was now bringing up.

It was pointless.

There was no feasible way to convict Borros for them. It'd be one thing if Borros was a son of lesser nobility or a landed knight, but he was the Heir to the Stormlands. It'd take much more than that to convict someone of his high stature.

And Rhaenyra knew that.

The Hand of the King was a girl of efficient and deliberate moves. She wouldn't have allowed the prosecution to waste time bringing up any charge she couldn't make stick. So then why were they bringing it up?

Did she know about Uncle Boremund's planned betrayal?

Rhaneys mentally kicked herself at that. Of course Rhaenyra knew. The Red Keep was a leaking sieve for information. Mysaria's spies were behind every wall, listening in on every conversation.

With that knowledge in mind, Rhaenys pondered the actions of her fellow judge.

Was she playing for time?

The Lord Paramount of the Stormlands' scheme to force a Trial by Combat was going nowhere, as the Hand of the King only permitted right of reply for subjects pertaining to the accusations and only that. The defence was getting mired and bogged down, forced to attend to minor, lesser matters.

No. Rhaenys decided. There was no need for Rhaenyra to play for time. Cole and Redfort would be back in the city in time for a Trial by Combat. So then why were they bringing all of this up?

———

111 AC, Citadel, Oldtown

Oh.

Oh.

Lord Otto Hightower burst into laughter. A warm and rich baritone, the sound cut through the hall of maesters and acolytes, everyone turning to look strangely at the former Hand of the King.

"Oh well played, Princess." Otto praised, raising his glass of elderberry wine in toast.

"Lord Otto, care to share your thoughts for the record?" A maester prompted. "Do you have any insights you'd like to share regarding the actions of the Crown Prince?"

"Mayhaps later, maester." Otto smilingly declined. "I was just praising her. That was a wonderful move of political theatre. A brilliant counterstroke."

There was no doubt that this was a play by the Crown Prince. It had her telltale handprints all over it. The prosecution was doing far to well for it to have been improvised. They'd rehearsed a script beforehand, coaching the witnesses on what exactly to say, and more importantly, what not to say. It was infinitely better to say too little and be seen as accurate and truthful, than to say too much and be seen as exaggerating or making up details to embellish the story.

That conniving snake in Queen Alysanne's dress hadn't offered a plea deal because she thought it would work—Through Otto was pretty sure the Crown Prince wouldn't complain if it did— But because Borros' denial of it gave her the moral high ground and excuse to throw the book at him.

"I thought that it'd be the Baratheons that'd betray you, for their Trial by Combat." Lord Otto mused to himself. "But no, you betrayed them first."

Otto could see what was happening. The bulk of the offences wouldn't stick, so they were doling out the ones that would to lend credence to what they were saying. Like a backbone of knights to anchor a floundering line of levies. The prosecution would most likely drop the bulk of those charges in the end, but not before reciting them all out in exquisite detail for the entire realm to hear.

All calculated to make Borros look as bad as possible.

The trial and everything they said was being broadcast to every highborn of import from Hardhome to the Arbor. It didn't matter if they couldn't make the charges stick, so long as they could make Borros look like 'the one that got away with it'. A piece of scum whom hid behind his family and blood to avoid justice. The disrepute would be enough to sour most of Borros' less steady supporters.

While although on paper there wasn't a jury, in practise there was one. It comprised of every single member of the currently assembled highborn in the Royal Court.

The Hand of the King could pass any sentence she wanted, but unless she had sufficient support among this unofficial jury, she'd be unable to make the punishment stick.

It would be a death sentence for her reign.

It was one thing for a petition of hers to be defeated, for not even the most beloved of Kings had been spared such an indignity, but for her will to be so openly defied by her subjects? It'd undermine the rest of her authority, with her laws not even worth the paper they were written on. The illusion of power would be broken and nobody would fear the Crown enforcing laws, causing them to be broken left and right with impunity. Rhaenyra would be reduced to little more than a figurehead ruler. Aenys the Weak come again.

And while she had the dragons to call any opposition to heel, Maegor the Cruel cast a long shadow over Westerosi politics. If Rhaenyra was seen as a tyrant, then the realm would rise up and dethrone her. Like it or not, Kings needed the support of the highborn to stay in power. And torching highborn for defying her was a splendid way to see herself overthrown.

So like it or not, Rhaenyra had to either compromise and pass a sentence that the bulk of the jury would agree with. Or, she could sway the jury into her side of the fence, like what she was currently doing.

Much of the highborn mutineers believed that they were above the lowborn foot soldiers, and had mutinied to try get the preferential treatment they believed they deserved. But there was a difference between that and being willing to commit largely unprovoked violence on the smallfolk. Borros' crimes were unsavoury enough that many were second guessing the horse they'd hitched their chariot to.

Most likely, after making them squirm a bit, Rhaenyra would pass some edict that would placate the bulk of them. She'd offer them a way out. A way to give the mutineers what they wanted in a way that was acceptable. A deal with favourable enough terms that they'd bend and return to the fold.

And it got worse.

However bad Rhaenyra was making Borros look right now in the short term, it was a trivial inconvenience compared to what Mysaria could do in the long term. And knowing Lady Misery, her army of singers and minstrels would already be hard at work composing ballads about Borros' escape from justice. They'd sing those songs in every tavern and winesink in the continent, utterly ruining the future Lord of Storm's End's honour and reputation.

Borros Baratheon was something of martyr among the highborn. Otto himself had been propping the young man up as a young and innocent heir about to be wrongly accused by the Crown Prince. Using him to show how the future King intended to utterly destroy the nobility, making them equal if not subordinate to the smallfolk. It had upset the balance of power, making the Queen's Party even stronger as a bevy of new members joined.

You couldn't kill a martyr. So instead, Rhaenyra intended on making Borros an even bigger martyr.

Borros Baratheon would be demonised and mocked, scorned and shamed by generations upon generations of Westerosi children. Spoken of as a villain in the same breath as Maegor the Cruel, Harren the Black and a hundred and one other tyrants. The embodiment of cruel and entitled highborn whom did nothing but rob and torture the innocent smallfolk under their domination.

Otto had thought that Rhaenyra was stuck between a rock and a hard place. She had to either kill Borros and lose the Stormlands, or pardon him and make a mockery of justice. Her initial moves seemed to suggest that she'd been trying to thread the needle through that very narrow gap, with her plea deal with the Baratheons.

The obvious countermove was to have Otto's agents in court suggest to Borros that he deny the plea deal—An easy sell, given the young Stormlord's nature— which would derail Rhaenyra's plans, stranding her back with the choice between losing either the Stormlands or her legitimacy as a just ruler.

Then it was a simple matter of having his catspaws bring up the notion of a Trial by Combat. Cousin Ceril was High Septon and would back the Baratheons, while Eustace would convince Lord Boremund to accept. It would look like an easy way out for the Baratheons, especially after Borros publicly insulted Rhaenyra. She'd have to punish him severely for that, which would make the Baratheons desperate. Desperate enough to betray Rhaenyra.

But no.

Rhaenyra had skilfully evaded Otto's trap.

Now, with how badly she was savaging Borros' reputation, it was now the Baratheons whom were caught between a rock and a hard place.

Rhaenyra now had the casus belli to hang Borros. And Lord Boremund could do nothing to stop it.

If Lord Boremund forced Rhaenyra to pardon his son or enter a Trial by Combat, it would look like he was strongarming her into making a travesty of justice. Rhaenyra would be the victim of the tale. She'd lose some skin and legitimacy, but it would be a minor wound, while Lord Boremund would take a crippling one in return. They'd be flayed in song as the criminals whom evaded justice from Hardhome to the Arbor.

It would utterly destroy House Baratheon's legitimacy, honour and reputation.

Worse, it would destroy all three of those, in front of another, more credible candidate for Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.

Once Lord Boremund kicked the bucket, how many Stormlords would be willing to back Borros Baratheon in the face of Edric Dondarrion?

Lord Edric Dondarrion already had a large and well-trained army at his back, a pristine reputation, an impressive battlefield record and most importantly, overwhelming support and popularity among the Stormlords.

If the General of the Second Legion pressed a claim, it'd be a battle he'd handily win.

Only the Crown could oppose him, but they'd most likely cut a deal with Edric Dondarrion. A betrothal between his firstborn son and Laena Velaryon, most likely. Laena's Baratheon blood would give the Dondarrions enough legitimacy, and would cement the new dynasty's loyalty to Rhaenyra while being palatable enough to mostly appease the Queen Who Never Was.

And if Lord Boremund turned his cloak from the Prince's Party over the death of his son and heir, he'd face the same situation once more when he passed. For who else but the Crown could stop General Dondarrion and keep House Baratheon in power?

Rhaenyra had betrayed Lord Boremund Baratheon, and he was going to have to sit there and take it unless he wanted to doom his entire House.

But Otto doubted that that would come to pass. More likely than not, the Baratheons would cut their losses. Lord Boremund was a skilled politician, and knew when to throw in the towel.

Most likely Rhaenys would be confirmed as his heiress, or Borros allowed to live, but solely as an exile. His children would inherit the Stormlands.

Otto vaguely considered sending a Hightower daughter over as a bride to the widower Boremund, but decided against it in the end. They only had so many to spare, and Rhaenyra's growing power had seen their supply of scions run sorely low. Buying allies to oppose her wasn't cheap. House Hightower was rich enough to afford every dowry, but they were running out of unwed family members. They'd been forced to ration all whom were left. Otto's nephew Ormund had even brought up the notion of doing as Rhaenyra did and legitimising their bastards in order to replenish their depleted ranks, and as the days passed, Otto found himself agreeing to the notion more and more.

No.

The Lord Paramount of the Stormlands was old and tired. Only a single child of his survived to adulthood from his three marriages, and he was unwilling to take a fourth wife. It was unlikely he'd be able to father another child in his lifetime, and House Baratheon's lesser branches had all been pruned by the Triarchy-Dorne alliance.

———

111 AC, Red Keep

The walls were red sandstone and the doors were iron banded oak. Both thick and stout.

And yet the sounds of a loud and bitter argument could be heard clearly from the corridor outside. The voices were indistinct. Loud and angry, but the words were hard to hear.

Bell leaned on the wall, idly watching the two Baratheon guards flanking the door. Both were big and strong household knights in steel plate, both bearing tall halberds.

The raised voices inside the room had made them tense, knuckles clenched around their weapons and eyes constantly flicking to the door.

They seemed tempted to burst into the room every time someone shouted, ready to defend their lord from any danger.

Amateurs, both of them.

Nyra was dangerous, of course, but she wasn't the immediate danger. That was Bell. And they weren't watching her.

If the guards had burst into the room, Bell would have killed them immediately.

It would have been easy.

Her mace would split the skull of the first guard before he knew what was happening, and would cave in the face of the second before he could fully turn to face her.

Those big halberds of theirs were scary to look at, but they were the wrong weapon in such close quarters. Bell's mace was shorter and faster. And when fighting indoors, those were the more important things.

Though Bell didn't think that would happen.

Nyra was in her element: Up to her eyes in scheming and sorcery.

And according to her, in that field, requiring violence to reach her goals was rather sloppy.

Bell wouldn't know. Both of those were beyond her. She didn't even know the meaning of subtlety, and couldn't cast even the simplest spells.

Not that it bothered her. She tended to leave the thinking to the fancy folk while she did the dirty work for them.

While some looked down on Bell for letting her fists do the thinking, she didn't mind or care. She was a simple person. All she needed was her dragon, her arms and armour, her family and her duty. The rest was dust.

Eventually, the shouting died down, and not too long after that, the doors opened, and Nyra stepped out, Bell moving to flank her wordlessly as they walked back towards the Tower of the Hand.

Viserra and Laena were already waiting when they entered the living room.

"How'd it go?" Viserra eagerly asked, leaning forwards excitedly.

"I've persuaded Lord Boremund to cut his losses." Nyra replied, casually undressing as she spoke. Her cape and neckcloth landed on the nearby table. "He'll remain in the fold so long as I show Borros mercy."

"Are you sure he should be allowed to live?" Laena asked. "I'd have hung him even before he went an insulted you before the entire realm, consequences be damned."

"And this is exactly why I'm the leader of this operation." Nyra drawled, taking off her shoes and slipping off her kirtle. "That would have been short-sighted.

"There are ways to allow him to live, but will make him wish he were dead." She declared, Viserra helping her undo the laces of her dress, leaving her in naught but her smallclothes.

"Ooh. Cryptic." Laena praised, appreciatively looking up and down at Nyra's exposed body. "Care to share?"

The Prince said nothing, pulling on what she called a T-shirt and shorts before speaking.

"Firstly, a hard flogging. One strike of the cane for everyone he's wronged." Nyra formally recited. "Followed by ten years of hard labour…"

———

111 AC, Citadel, Oldtown

"In the quarries of the Stepstones." Rhaenyra sentenced. "Followed by lifelong exile."

She glared balefully down at Ser Borros Baratheon, brought in to hear his sentence, at the end of the second day of the trial.

"You shall not set foot on Westerosi soil ever again for the rest of your life." Rhaenyra declared. "As a personal favour to your father, I shall not deny the rightful inheritance of any children you sire. However, I will never allow you to become Lord of Storm's End."

As expected. Rhaenyra was able to force Lord Boremund to bend, allowing her to force a harsher sentence on Ser Borros. It wasn't death, but disinheritance and exile was considered by some to be a worse punishment for there was no honour in either, while the grave allowed a knight to regain some modicum of dignity and repute, if he solemnly faced death.

"I refuse your sentence! I demand a Trial by Combat!" Ser Borros shouted.

Otto smiled at his words. The man was the single most aggressively ignorant person Otto had ever seen, with unmatched belligerence and impulsiveness. Manipulating him had been child's play. Otto could get used to such easiness, but alas most people tended to be smarter and wiser than the former heir to the Stormlands.

"There is no question of your guilt." Rhaenyra denied, voice gone colder than the abyss. "You cannot request a Trial by Combat."

"Coward! Craven! You dare not face me, little girl!" The Baratheon scion bellowed. "Hiding behind your weak laws like a coward! Too afraid to fight!"

His face twisted into a sneer, his voice filling with low cunning and cruelty.

"But what can be expected. You're just a girl. A pampered princess playing a man's game." Ser Borros mocked. "You're too scared and weak, like all women!"

"Guards! Gag him and get him out of my sight!" Rhaenyra ordered, but she was too late.

"You don't deserve to rule! You're too much of a coward to seat that throne! A true man would have faced me in battle. He would have fought me, man to man, in a Trial by Combat. To prove himself the strongest and most righteous! But you're not one! You're just a little craven bitch!" Ser Borros yelled, struggling against the legionaries sent to restrain him. Though he was chained to the stand, he still managed to knock about the guards.

"You don't deserve to be heir! You're too weak and scared to stand up and fight! A craven to the bone, unworthy of—" A legionary slammed a mailed fist into the knight's jaw, stunning him long enough for them to gag him.

But the damage had been done.

All around them, in the court, whispers were beginning to spread. And not all by his agents in court.

Was Rhaenyra a coward? Was she too weak to be king? Was she worthy? Could she really protect her subjects? Was she too scared of the Baratheons to order Borros' death?

It was one thing to be merciful. But to still continue to be even after such insults? That was a step too far.

And meanwhile, on the other side of the continent, Otto Hightower smiled the smile of a man whom had just won.

Rhaneyra's reign had just ended.

If she continued her current path and kept denying Borros, she'd go down in history as an unworthy coward. Too weak and scared to fight in battle. Or make the hard choices, unlike a proper man. It'd be the death knell of her reign. No one would support a craven king. They'd all flock to Aegon, an actual and genuine man, the true and rightful heir to the throne.

Or, she could face Borros. Using a champion would only lend his words further credence, so Rhaenyra's only option was to fight him personally in a Trial by Combat. It was the only way she could deny the accusations and salvage her reputation. It'd also be the death knell of her reign, for Borros was ten times the warrior Rhaenyra was and would crush her underfoot with ease.

One way or another Rhaenyra was doomed.

"Very well then." The Heir to the Iron Throne spoke, voice trembling with pure rage. It was soft, little more than a whisper, and yet every single person heard it loud and clear. "You shall have your Trial by Combat."

Purest triumph blossomed in Otto's heart as he heard the words. That meddling Dragonspawn was a walking corpse now.

"I, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and Hand of the King, hereby challenge Ser Borros Baratheon to a Trial of Seven!" Rhaenyra declared, iron conviction in her voice.

Otto felt his blood run cold as all the triumph and victory was sucked out of him in an instant.

"That conniving snake." He hissed out between teeth clenched in rage, blood trickling down his palms from how hard he clenched his fists. She'd escaped his shackles once more.

Gods damn that vicious child.

———

"Such was the trap of the Path of Mercy: It could be taken as weakness."

-The Dilemma of Judgement

Notes:

For those confused as to what happened, it basically went like this:

Borros mutinies. Rhae cuts a deal with Boremund. Otto incites Borros to decline the plea deal. Borros does so and publicly insults Rhae, forcing her hand. Otto's other agents suggest a Trial by Combat. Rhae declines one, but the court is unhappy with that decision.

Boremund decides to betray Rhae to force a Trial by Combat to acquit his son. Rhae finds out and betrays him first, utterly ruining Borros' reputation. Boremund is forced to write Borros off. He agrees to remain in the fold if Rhae offers mercy. Rhae does that, but Borros refuses that and insults her in front of the entire realm.

The insults are bad enough Rhae is forced to fight a Trial by Combat with Borros. Which is what Otto schemed, hoping to either kill or discredit Rhae irreparably. But Rhae escapes by declaring a Trial of Seven.