Who: Tristran Mallister, devout followers of the Seven (or anyone who wants to appear as such) When: Day 18, evening Where: Outside of the Great Sept of Baelor Rating: G. We’re at a church, people. Status: OPEN
The sun was setting by the time evening services ended and Tristran left the sept. It was a bit disorienting, following the crowd outside, expecting to find the last bright traces of afternoon light and instead discovering that dusk was nearly upon the city. When he’d left the Red Keep earlier in the day, restless and eager to be out of the castle for a while, he'd expected to return long before dark. Autumn was approaching faster than he’d thought, for night to fall so soon.
He had been to Baelor’s sept several times before, during previous visits to the city, but always in the morning with the rest of the highborn. Half of the nobles that attended were there for political or social reasons as much as religious ones, and they would linger long after the prayers had ended, gathering and talking in the Hall of Lamps, or in the marble plaza just outside. Those attending tonight showed no such inclination. Families spoke to one another in quiet voices, but the rest were happy to remain silent as they left. Of course, the evening services were open to all, and the crowd was accordingly varied. That alone would probably be enough to discourage them from being social; add in the plague, and it wasn’t the least bit surprising that people were keeping to themselves.
Tristran knew that he should leave as well. He faced a long ride back to the castle, through an unfamiliar city in the dark, if he didn't go soon. Still, he found himself pausing before the statue of Baelor Targaryen, staring at the faint smile playing about its marble lips, at the blank white eyes gazing over the sprawling city. Baelor's sept, Maegor's keep, Daenerys' atheneum, all of it built atop Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya's hills. King's Landing was Targaryen to its very core. Save for Robert Baratheon's reign, and the war that erupted following his death, a Targaryen had sat the Iron Throne for more than 900 years. How could the Starks, or any other family who might rule, ever feel welcome in this place?
He briefly thought of history lessons from his childhood, studying Daenerys I, who had come flying into the city on the back of a dragon when all thought their dynasty to be ended. His thoughts had strayed in similar directions far too often for his liking over the past week. Perhaps it was the less than auspicious start to King William’s reign that was making him so pessimistic, but, whether any long lost Targaryen scions appeared or not, Tristran just couldn’t feel confident in their new ruler’s prospects. He sighed, and tried to drag his thoughts back to the present. William Stark was king regent for now, and there was no use worrying about what the future might hold.