funerals made alysane uneasy. she stayed away from anything related to death as it reminded her of the fragility of life and that one day the gods may just randomly decided to take it away. when she saw the maester’s body laid in the sept, she remembered the last time she saw her own father, weakened by his sickness. the thought of one day losing him terrified alysanne; her greatest fear was to witness a loved one pass. after paying her respects, alysane excused herself and quietly disappeared from the sept. she needed to get away else her own thoughts would have driven her mad. upon her return to the red keep, she decided to look for a distraction and thought arranging flowers may help her mind off things. “had you just arrived back from the sept?” alysane hummed as she continued cutting the stems off the roses. “was it as crowded as it was this morning? i couldn’t bear to be inside.”
❝ there are more mourners than i’d expected . ❞ he says offhand , glancing across the crowd in the sept . he would have expected so many for any other member of the council , but for the old man he had not . ❝ especially for a man so few truly knew . ❞ he does not claim to have known him perfectly , but he had spent so many years by his side . he knew him better than most . ❝ i wonder , are you here to mourn for the man or to be seen mourning him ? ❞
he had done as he’d both been told and asked. for a week, he had remained in his rooms without once trying to escape, festering in his fear and fury, and then he had allowed the farce of a trail to commence despite every cell in his body screaming at him to fight. words and even evidence could be twisted, but the sword was always true. however, he had promised his siblings that he wouldn’t be rash; he would let justice have its opportunity to shine true. it was what emmelyne would have wanted too for it was, in certain regards, the safest choice. so he’d kept his lips pressed together even as the so-called evidence had been paraded forth, even as the realization that there would be no true justice within these walls grew and grew. but lancel lannister’s words and the king’s receptiveness to them that broke his resolve. he called out, demanding what he had wanted from the start, and when asked for a champion he sneered. ❝ there is no blade i trust more than my own, ❞ he declared.
his gaze turned to the kingsguard. the same men who had dragged him away from his family. one of whom he would now either send to the stranger or meet his end at their blade. he didn’t expect it to be euron harlaw who stepped forward for the king. another knife joined the others. while time had pulled the men apart, stefan still recalled sparring playfully with him when they were both knights, competing against him in tourneys, and celebrating their victories over drinks afterwards. he remembered writing to congratulate him for joining the kingsguard. if he thinks our past friendship will make me falter, he is mistaken. if anything, euron’s action only made the baratheon’s fury darken.
now he stood across the yard from the man, dressed in armor, though a lighter armor than that of the kingsguard in weight but far darker in color, and sword drawn. spectators surrounded them, most, stefan knew, hoping for his death. he paid them no mind. there was only one he looked for in the crowd, having already spoken to his siblings before stepping onto the field. this time he knew where to find her, standing with the royal family, but he knew her heart was here with him.
their eyes met in silence. where hers were full of terror, his, he hoped, reflected his confidence. this was the trail he had wanted. he had always preferred being the master of his own fate.
right before the combat began, euron caught his eye and smiled. did he think this some game? did he find joy in trying to kill someone he’d once called friend? how this world corrupted. there was something off about the smile, something almost sad, but stefan was blind to it. while his fury was already storming, this strengthened its winds. neither lord euron or the king would get the satisfaction of spilling his blood. that smile would be the last one that ever graced his enemy’s lips.
with a snarl, he charged.
blades clashed, parted, and then clashed again. the two men danced around each other as if they’d rehearsed every step of the fight before crossing blades. stefan struck, euron parried. euron advanced, and stefan evaded. they were equally matched, both fighting with all of their strength. the crowd vanished. time ceased to exist. there was only the deadly dance that he had thrown himself into. it was not unfamilar. the rush of battle was familiar to him as was the adrenaline filling his veins. even the presence of death, swirling around them, licking its lips every time their swords locked, was familiar; however, stefan had never been in a fight quite like this before. in tourneys, death was possible but unlikely. even in the few real fights he’d fought in, death had never been so present. this fight would only end in death. his or euron’s - there was no other option for stefan would never yield.
mighty of a storm as he was, even he needed a moment to breathe. after euron’s blade came so close that it cut a few strands of his hair, he knew he had to regroup. his opponent’s recent attacks were coming too close for comfort while his defenses felt slightly slower. not terribly so, but even a minor lapse was a deadly one.
stefan retreated, hoping distance would give him a moment to regain his breath, but euron stalked him like a predator. his weapon struck, scrapping the ground and sending up a cloud of dust, but it couldn’t catch the storm. however, when he evaded the attack his foot dragged on the ground, and he fell. whether it was due to fatigue or the fear of death growing larger mattered not. all that mattered was that he must move. recklessly, daring fate once more, he waited until he heard the sound of euron swinging his weapon and upon hearing the direction it was coming from, rolled to the side. the attack landed where he’d once lay, but stefan was already launching his own retaliation. he kicked out his legs, knocking euron over, and lashed out with his blade, cutting his opponent as he fell. blood spilled from the wound, staining the ground. some even fell on stefan’s face and armor.
only stefan baratheon rose to his feet. the tides turned. now he was the predator.
he strode forward. a vision dressed in black and covered in harlaw blood. his lips curled into a snarl. his features twisted by rage. there was not a single thought of mercy in his mind. blood was all he desired. freedom was all he desired, and that could only be gained through death, through blood. later, he might remember the second smile that euron gave him as he stared up at him. a smile of acceptance. a smile of... happiness? but in the moment, there was only fury, blinding fury.
it was NOT euron harlaw that lay at his feet. it was the king. it was lancel lannister. it was everyone who had whispered of his guilt behind his back. it was the faceless bastard that had framed him.
stefan plunged his sword through the man’s eye until it struck the earth underneath. IT WAS DONE.
he stumbled back a step. adrenaline still coursed through his veins, but for a moment he felt like he couldn’t breathe. his blood soaked face looked up toward the sky. the king’s words were all that broke through the haze: “on this day, the gods have seen fit to proclaim him innocent of the charges cast upon him.” free, he thought, i’m free. it almost brought him to his knees, but he stood tall. relief almost made his eyes water but that too he restrained. he had stood strong, defiant, throughout this whole ordeal; he wouldn’t let them see him crumble now. he turned and faced the king and the crowds. not even the cheers delighted him. the discontent went unnoticed. even the screams and distress of the harlaws were muffled to his ears.
he locked eyes with the king. rage still burned within dark hues, but he remained silent. it spoke louder. you did not beat me. your gods stand with me, and now my fury is stronger. he hoped the king felt as weak as he looked, standing surrounded by guards while another had died for he too cowardly to face the man he would have happily sentenced to death. at least the starks swung their own execution blades.
at last he was permitted to leave. he walked off the field with his head high. he had barely entered the privacy of his room before his siblings all rushed in. they surrounded him instantly, all talking over each other, and stefan could only smile then laugh. but the single crack of emotion was all that was needed; the dam burst open. his laughter turned in a choked sob. his smile shattered. i almost died. the thought echoed loudly in his head. the one he’d tried smothering since his arrest. i almost died. i almost died. he couldn’t breathe. the tears couldn’tt be stopped. stefan crumpled to the ground, the weight of the last week at last hitting him, and in his siblings’ arms, the mighty stag sobbed.
since she was a young girl, poppy had been taught to be mindful of how she appeared to others, to be wary of the eyes that were watching. her mother had spent many lessons attempting to teach her daughter that your words are a weapon, whether they are at your enemy’s throat or your own. ever the dutiful daughter, she had listened and taken the statement to heart, even years later.
poppy was always very careful, she had chosen that spot in particular to converse with the messenger. if she hadn’t felt as if though she was being watched, she might have never noticed the other man staring her in the eyes.
the woman had been caught and she could feel her own words being held against her throat like a knife, all of her work in court was beginning to crumble before her eyes.
maester florent. close enough to the king to bring her plenty of trouble and ruin her house’s standing further.
the plan came together soon enough, the sand dripping through an imaginary hourglass. something to keep the pointing finger far from her and her kin.
the evening came, poppy found herself helping to adorn her servant in another house’s banner, assuring them that she would protect them if anything were to go wrong. that they would be paid greatly as well for the lying she asked them to do. promises she was not entirely certain she would truly keep.
she sent them off with instructions to simply hand off the coin to the other servant, the one she had picked to commit the act. and then poppy waited. impatiently pacing her chambers as she waited for any word from her own servant, sick with the knowledge that she had pushed it into motion, a man would die and her hands would carry his blood.
they returned and she breathed a sigh of relief, though the storm in her stomach was not put to rest. poppy excused herself from the masquerade, unable to keep her hands still with the knowledge of what would truly occur that evening.
the funeral was when poppy finally saw her work come to full fruition. it was when the storm in her stomach began to ease, as her eyes watched them drag stefan baratheon away. all of the pieces had fallen into place and poppy arryn was free of any suspicion.
half a moon following the ill - fated masquerade , and a week hence following the grand master's funeral and stefan baratheon's subsequent arrest - the trial of the lord was thrown together .
the king's disappointment with his people was clear , for so many kept their eyes to the floor and kept their mouths shut when he asked for them to speak . those who did speak , he took all the more interest in . for the maester , while a member of his council just like any other , had been more than that . he had been a father , a brother - a trusted advisor and friend above all others . one whose death the king could not forgive .
when it was time for stefan to call for witnesses , each one was quick to speak in his defence . he was allowed but two , something house baratheon saw as a slight . ayleen baratheon spoke first , stating " i have known my brother for as long as i have lived . as such , i am confident in my knowledge of his character when i say that while he may be headstrong , or brash, he is a man true to his word, honorable , loyal and honest. but above all, no matter what anyone claims , lord stefan baratheon has never been , is not, and never will be a schemer , a backstabber , or treacherous . he would never stoop to making a clandestine attempt on the life of a great man such as the late grand maester . i know that as much as i know the sun will rise again tomorrow . "
following her came emmelyne celtigar , the queen’s own niece , which brought forth heavy gossip within the crowd . " there’s to be a profitable union between the baratheons and carons. so he cannot afford to risk this advantageous offer nor his siblings’ livelihood over a senseless crime. still , he is a baratheon but he is not that stupid . "
the argument was one without any arguments aside from those who supported the once proud house baratheon . few could offer true reasoning beyond character references for the man - and the statements of his siblings helped the court little , for most agreed that of course they would cover for him . members of house lannister - including the king's very own master of laws - spoke greatly about how the baratheons would have done anything in order to gain positions of power . lancel lannister himself stated " the baratheons would stop at nothing to see themselves rise once more . after robert baratheon lost his little rebellion so long ago, it was my forefathers who aided in building the kingdom back to glory . we do not take kindly to the lord stefan's actions, for the grand maester was a most important and dedicated servant to the king and kingdom , and his loss can not go so easily unpunished . "
seeing that things were not going his way , the lord baratheon spoke up soon after the lord lancel finished speaking - demanding a trial by combat . none could refuse him by the laws of the seven , and so it was agreed .
it went to the kingsguard to decide who might fight against the young lord and it was house harlaw's only son , euron , who offered himself as the king and realm's champion . though it pained his family to watch , they knew he could only succeed .
the battle began , and for the first while it had seemed as though they were evenly matched . each clang of their swords was greeted with gasps from the crowds , as they watched in fear and awe . death would not find either until the tides seemed to turn , as lord stefan was forced to run to catch his breath . lord euron’s weapon scraped the ground as it went for him , and missed . the lord stefan tripped , but managed to roll to the side to avoid being struck - knocking lord euron over and cutting him in the process . slowly lord stefan crept up . blood was smeared across the landing , and he was all but exhausted .
though none could say what was truly in his mind - only that the look upon his face was one of anger , all watched as he struck the killing blow .
there was silence across the crowd for a moment .
" with the battle's end the gods have declared the verdict between them . " the king declared , his words full of bite . " on this day , the gods have seen fit to proclaim him innocent of the charges cast upon him . "
the crowd offered both cheers and jeers to the king’s declaration , murmuring carrying through them all .
in an attempt to allow the baratheons to feel as though they had earned his favour once more , and truly to be back within their good graces , the king privately allowed a single boon of the young lord - and agreed no matter how large he would do his best to grant it . while some might have asked for wealth , others great titles or properties - stefan asked for one simple thing : a marriage of his own choice . while the king had some conditions and would not see either of his daughters married to a baratheon , with some consideration he allowed it .
within the maester’s chambers a note could be seen , having fallen and been swept away beneath his desk , a note he’d written in but his last moments in old valyrian . a note with but two words on it , the name of the person he knew to be responsible - lifted by a servant and tossed to the fires .
SHE SAT ALONE in her chambers at night, piercing stare cast upon the parchment before her, as if willing it to reveal some secret. hastily written sentences wee just as quickly crossed out as she muttered to herself — a habit her septa back at storm's end had tried to get rid of for years to no avail.
partly against her will, she thought of storm's end — of home. how did it all come to this? what felt like centuries ago, as she ran through the gardens after her siblings, she had never for a second thought she would be here, in king's landing, sat at a table at the hour of the owl thinking of defenses for her brother's trial. well, it was stefan. she may have thought of that once or twice. but it was never in all seriousness, never so large and inescapable as it was now, as the unspoken possibility of losing their brother forever loomed over the baratheons' heads.
even the thought alone felt blasphemous, or in some superstitious way wrong, as if even entertaining the possibility could shift stefan's final fate. to think that she so recently worried only about idiotic betrothal drama! ayleen forced herself to look upon the parchment once more, her eyes having shifted to the window, the view now suspiciously blurry. she still had her mind, and as long as she did, the baratheons would never truly be doomed. as she blinked furiously, the last sentence she's written met the same end as its predecessors, crossed out multiple times, an inkblot forming next to it. suddenly, struck by inspiration, the lady began writing furiously, her other hand curling up into a fist against the table.
"as such, i can be confident in my knowledge of his character", ayleen muttered, writing the same words. "lord stefan baratheon is not treacherous, he is a man true to his word." her scribbles grew less and less comprehensible to anyone who wasn't her, but she paid it no mind. she held on tight to the only way she could help her brother ever see the gardens of storm's end again.
⚜ 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 !
𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 : outside the sept of baelor
watching stefan baratheon be dragged away by the king’s guards shook aeron. he had just paid his respects to the late grand maester ( who he did not even know but since he was already here he might as well ) and was on his way out when he was greeted by such scene. heavens know how long he was outside the sept , trying to absorb everything that has happened thus far . stefan was a friend and aeron refused to believe the charges against him. “ do you believe he was wrongfully accused? ”
while the nobles were interviewed for their alibis on the night of the masquerade , the master of whisperers was doing an investigation of her own . servants see all , so the story goes , and so that’s where her investigation led her . it took some time , but servants loyalty to one another was only as strong as their stomachs , and as their interrogations grew darker - their loyalties weakened .
under torture , a servant confessed to having been paid generously to commit the heinous act . while he could not name his benefactor - siting only that days prior to the masquerade , they been met by a man dressed in baratheon colors . those who were accounted for upon the night of were , at first , cleared of wrongdoing ( though some suspicion still rested upon them - dependant on their alibi ) , those of house baratheon were investigated under further light in the week that followed the murder . as the silent sisters made arrangements for the funeral rites , the master of whisperers and her spies gathered further evidence . as guests arrived to the funeral , they were greeted to the sight of stefan baratheon being apprehended by the kingsguard .
though they protested - claiming their innocence - he was charged with the murder of grand maester samuel florent by proxy . an upcoming trial would prove what would become of them and how the baratheon family’s status might change , and - perhaps - if they truly were the culprit . for though all eyes watched in shock as they were dragged away - one pair watched in satisfied triumph .
