Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper

Chapter 72: Trial by Seven

After a series of tense, strenuous trials and shocking tribulations, the day of reckoning had finally arrived. The Trial by Seven of Cersei Lannister and Petyr Baelish was now officially underway; located further away from the Red Keep, the stage was set on the Dragonpit atop Rhaenys's Hill—a giant domed structure designed to serve as a stable for the source and symbol of power for Targaryen kings: their dragons. Unfortunately, the site was later destroyed by an uprising during the Dance of Dragons; following the civil war, the huge structure was never rebuilt and left in ruins ever since.

The entire arena had been set up, the gold crowned stag on a black field flew from many different angles, the sigil of House Baratheon of King's Landing, two pavilions set up—both with the Lannister banner on the left and the Baelish banner alongside it.

The Dragonpit arena was a few miles away from King's Landing, yet looked earie as several onlookers began taking their assigned seats. Tywin sat next to Sansa on his left, with Tyrion sitting to his right; Sansa was in her seven-month pregnancy yet her face was full of concern and worry. Shae, Sansa's Lorathi handmaiden, massaged her mistress's shoulder as if to reassure her that things will be all right again soon. The Old Lion's face still retained a cold, frowning scowl at the unnerving revelation of his only daughter's accusations and was more furious at the cold-hard evidence that was presented to him almost a month ago. He hadn't spoken to Cersei during her court trial, and had since quietly disinherited her. Tywin examined the Dragonpit closely—noticing squads of gold cloaks stationed at strategic locations around the exits with crossbowmen stationed atop the pillars on all sides, each one locked-and-loaded and ready to fire if necessary.

I see what you've been planning, boy. Block all possible escape routes and have crossbows on standby should a certain party try anything.

Sansa observed the claimants and defendants and their seven respective champions. To her shock, she spotted Daveth standing alongside his champions: Barristan, Ariyana, Brienne, Jaime, Lucius and Oberyn. All of them were getting ready for the battle. "Daveth?! What's he doing down there?" she gasped.

Shae hushed her mistress. "Calm down, Your Grace. We don't know why—"

"It's psychological warfare," Olyvar announced, sitting behind Sansa.

The Wolf Queen looked over her shoulder to look at him. "I... I'm sorry, do I...?"

"Oh, pardon my manners, Your Grace. I'm Olyvar Frey, eighteenth son of Lord Walder Frey and squire to His Grace King Daveth himself."

Sansa furrowed her brow slightly; Tyrion, meanwhile, was rather somewhat amused.

Ah yes, that would explain the weasel-like face.

"Why aren't you down there with your King?" Sansa asked.

Olyvar frowned, his facial expressions displayed disappointment. "I offered to be one of his seven champions, Your Grace, but he wouldn't allow it. Says it was a problem he had to deal with himself... that, and I'm still just a squire."

"Perhaps it's for the best," Tyrion said, "considering who my sister picked."

"Fate tends to work in mysterious way," a woman spoke.

Sansa turned to see a woman donned in crimson red attire with a large glowing ruby necklace sitting down beside Shae, looking like she belonged here. Most of the Red Keep staff had never seen this beautiful woman before, though whisperers only discovered her name as Vaeraleah; but have yet to determine her motives for being here. "Who...?" she tried to ask.

"Valar morghulis (all men must die)," Vaeraleah said simply.

Sansa raised an eyebrow and tilted her head slightly, possibly unsure as to what the woman said. Shae, however, perked her ears up at the High Valyrian language. "Valar dohaeris (all men must serve)," Shae replied. "Sorry, but you'll have to stick with the Common Tongue. My mistress doesn't speak High Valyrian."