When The Throne Bleeds

41. Dark Waters

Irida finally noticed her surroundings. They had reached the edge of the Blackwater Bay. Long rows of old stone steps descended down to the deep waters, and on them, in an orderly manner, were all the lords and ladies. All of them were silent, with a few whispers that drifted their way to Irida's ear occasionally.

In the distance, she saw a golden awning attached to four big poles, fluttering with the strong wind. Underneath it, Yutara Martell stood at the centre, his golden and red robes signifying his house. Leonard Lannister was beside him, a sombre expression on his face and hands neatly intertwined with one another. The gorgeous woman from before stood on the other side of Yutara, her beautiful brown locks tied behind her back and an exquisitely embroidered white dress tightly wound around her attractive frame.

"Irida! Irida!"

She turned to see Arya push her tiny frame from the crowd of onlookers, running straight at her.

Even Ser Barristan wasn't able to stop her. She slipped past him, impossibly fast, wrapping her thin arms around Irida's waist. Her grip was tight and her eyes were wet as she sobbed on her clothes.

"Please, don't die. Please, please. You can't." She gasped out between her sobs.

Irida didn't know what to say. How would she comfort her sister? By reassuring her that she shall definitely survive the trial? All she could do was brush her hand against Arya's head, hopefully ruffle a few hairs, just like old times. An act of familiarity. An act of love. An act of compassion.

It was all she could do. Act.

"Arya!" A shrill voice was heard. "Come back right now!"

Septa Mordane and Sansa rushed forward, yanking back Arya. She kicked and fought but was dragged back nonetheless. Irida raised her eyes just in time to see Sansa staring at her with an uncertain expression. Then the Starks disappeared in the crowd.

Ser Barristan sighed, shaking his head as he continued his duty. He walked Irida down the steps, leading her to a lower stone platform beyond which Blackwater began.

Reaching the very centre of the otherwise empty platform, he pulled out a key from somewhere in his armor, Irida didn't bother to look. She only felt the chains fall off her hands and onto the stone floor with a thud. Ser Barristan retreated, taking the iron bonds with him.

Silence.

Mechanically, she turned around to face the assemblage, who had formed a perfect semi circle around the platform, with the decorated awning being in the centre of it, directly in front of her.
She raised her head to meet the gaze of Yutara Martell. The sun was directly above her, it's scorching rays burning through her skin. Yutara battled her unflinching gaze, lips slightly open in interested contemplation. He narrowed his eyes, a smirk appearing on his face, and nodded at her.

Irida didn't show any emotion. Her hands hung limply by her side and she could hear every wave of the bay behind her. Almost involuntarily, her eyes searched for the bewitching woman beside the Dornish prince. The woman had her head held slightly higher, a common manner in all highborn ladies, and her eyes strayed far away into the sea. It was as if she was indifferent to mortal matters, it was as if she was a goddess among mere men.

Irida's enraptured attention was disturbed by the hobbling of Maester Pycelle towards her, a few soldiers following him. They carried a newly made thick jute rope, Irida's heart plummeted at the sight of it.

No. NO. I must be brave. I will survive this. I must. I will live. I will live. I will live.

The soldiers marched ahead, taking their places behind her as Pycelle addressed the crowd. "We all are gathered here today to witness the trial by ordeal of Irida Snow of the North. She has been accused of putting the King, Robert Baratheon, into the Long Sleep using black magic. Here, we shall see whether the gods deem her guilty or not." Pycelle paused, licking his lips. Irida weaved her hands together, pressing them with immense force to drown out her fear.

Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.

"The accused shall be bound by iron chains and pushed into the depths of Blackwater Bay." Pycelle continued in his fluttering voice. "If the accused sinks, we shall know that she is pure of sin and the spirits of the water accept her. However, if she floats, it would indicate that the water has rejected her unworthy being, and she will be deemed guilty. To further strengthen the spirits of Blackwater Bay, Leonard of House Lannister will bless the water now, to ensure a fair trial."

Irida took in a sharp breath, head whipping up to see Leonard Lannister descending from the old stone steps, his tall straight form proudly dignified.

A coldness grasped her insides, twisting them painfully. More pain. He came closer to her, his yellow eyes burning her from within. More pain. Too much to bear. Too much fear. No, I must be brave.

Leonard walked past her, heading to the edge of the platform. He bent down and murmured something, a prayer, and dipped his hand in the water. Irida held in her gasp. The water rippled more than it should have had, a yellow haze that instantly disappeared beneath the gloomy surface. Irida looked on at the now ordinary water in horror. What had he done?

Leonard Lannister walked back to his place, resuming his position under the awning. Pycelle nodded at the soldiers, giving Irida a grim look. The soldiers immediately divided themselves, two of them marching towards the right and the other two marching towards the left. Both directions had a thick wooden pole firmly planted in the earth.

The thick rope was tied securely as the apprehensive silence prolonged itself in the quiet afternoon. Irida closed her eyes, her chest heaving.

Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.

She heard the four soldiers dragging the other two ends of the jute rope towards her, the brushing of the rough rope against the stone slates a foreboding rhythm. Finally.

Irida opened her eyes, staring straight into a pair of honey coloured eyes. The bearer of those mystical eyes smiled at her, and his smile seemed to tug at her swirling tornado of terror. Yes, she was terrified. It was no use fighting it. She was terrified of death. Death. Leonard Lannister. Death. Terror.

She gasped softly, gathering whatever strength was left in her.

I will live. I will live. I...I...I have to.

Pycelle signalled the soldiers and rather too enthusiastically, the four of them jumped closer to Irida, their hands crawling for her dress. Irida whipped her head to look at them fiercely, and for a moment they saw hot fire dance in her eyes, the same fire Yutara had seen during the previous trial. The soldiers hesitated, backing away.

Irida held her head high, as her heart finally accepted her fate, as her heart finally stopped thundering. Her slender fingers rose up to untie the strings of the dress, and weaved through them until every knot was untangled.

The dress fell down at her feet.

The crowd drew in shocked gasps. A few men stared at her unabashedly, a few didn't. Her lip trembling, she slowly looked down at her body. Her sight was first met by red festering wounds dwelling in the indents on her right breast. It felt painful to her, as if it was rotting while she was alive.

Pycelle stepped forward, gesturing at Irida. "The accused, Irida Snow, will enter the waters of Blackwater Bay as bare as she was born into the world, so that the Gods may recognize their daughter and judge her sins, if she has committed any."

Irida knew what she had to. Slowly, her naked body crouched down, shrinking into a fetal position. The soldiers stepped forward warily, still unsettled by her furious glare. Irida felt the ragged thick rope encircle her body, threatening to blend into her skin if tied any tightly.
Pycelle cleared his throat. "O sinner! May the Father judge you justly, may the Mother grant you her mercy, may the Crone guide-"

"Thank you, Grand Maester." Yutara interrupted, smiling widely at the old man. "Let the trial begin."

Irida was almost on the edge of the stone platform. She could feel the humidity of the air behind her, the saltiness of the bay, it's movement, it's depths, everything. She closed her eyes as she felt Pycelle's wrinkled hand touch her shoulder.

One little push and down she fell.