Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper

Chapter 75: A Bitter Taste, A Bitter End

―At King's Landing―

Red Keep ― Outer yard...

Far across the capital city of King's Landing, bells began to ring.

The hour of reckoning had come. Ever since the trial by seven reached its conclusion at the Dragonpit, it wasn't long for word to spread throughout the capital city like wildfire. Ever since Littlefinger and Cersei lost the trial and were ultimately sentenced to death, the security was tight. The Dragon Gate, the Lion Gate and the Old Gate were closed and barred. The Mud Gate and the Gate of the Gods were open, but only to those who wanted to enter the city; the City Watch guardsmen let no one out. Those who were allowed to leave left by the King's Gate or the Iron Gate, but Baratheon men-at-arms in orange cloaks and antler-crested helms manned the guard posts there. Wagons and carriages were searched thoroughly, riders were forced to open their saddlebags and anyone who tried to pass on foot was quickly apprehended by the gold cloaks.

Gathering with his advisors, Daveth quietly brushed a palm over his cheek—his fingers tracing over the bruise left by the Mountain's backhanded strike. Today's sentencing was probably without a doubt the hardest thing he's ever had to do; the Young Stag had longed to rid himself of Littlefinger, but... his own mother, his own flesh and blood... would be condemned as a traitor as well. His grandfather and Hand, Lord Tywin, had refused to gather at the courtyard.

"Whatever mother was or has done, grandfather, she's still your daughter," Daveth told him.

"Her actions have disgraced the Lannister name for far too long. She is no daughter of mine," Tywin coldly retorted, a hint of anger and humiliation flashed beneath his pale green eyes before leaving the Tower of the Hand's study.

Daveth sharply shook his head. His breathing short, shallow and hurried, his right hand clenched into a fist and shook. The Young Stag's anxiety and stress levels were rapidly building until the day of the sentencing had finally arrived. He worked to quickly gather his thoughts and steady himself as the Master of Ships Lord Randyll Tarly entered the room. "It's time, Your Grace," he said gruffly.

The Young Stag looked over his shoulder. "Everyone is gathered in the courtyard?"

"All, but two: the King's Hand... and the Master of Laws."

"Prince Oberyn is not joining us?" he asked.

Varys, the Master of Whisperers, slid into the room. "It seems that not long after the trial by seven ended, the Red Viper and his paramour left the city under cover of night. My little birds searched his quarters... and Littlefinger's brothel, but we only found his resignation letter and the Mountain's corpse without a head. If anything, I would assume the only place he'd go to is Dorne."

Oberyn just left...? And he didn't do me the courtesy of informing me? he thought incredulously. Daveth shook his head. "What news have you heard of that disgraced ex-maester of mother's? Qyburn? They've been pretty close the past year."

"My little birds are scouring every inch of the city and beyond, if possible," the eunuch murmured, "yet so far nothing yet."

He can't run and hide forever. The old man's bound so show up again sooner or later at some point. "We'll make an inquiry later. For now, let's go."

"At once, Your Grace."

"Tell my brother Prince Tommen that he's coming as well."

That raised a few eyebrows among his advisors, especially from his uncle Tyrion Lannister. "Ah, Your Grace," the Imp politely protested, "are you sure that's appropriate of you? I mean... dragging the boy to witness his own mother's execution—"