'A Gathering of Shadows' - the Sept (theseven) wrote in agos, @ 2008-09-10 00:35:00
Episode: DRAGONS FALL Who: Gareth the Steward, assorted servants, attendants, and others who would be drawn by the confusion When: Day 28. Early morning. Where: Maidenvault. Red Keep. Kings Landing. Rating: R. (Gore, graphic content beyond the cut) Status: OPEN
The near-quiet of the early morning at the Red Keep was quietly building to its usual noise levels as more inhabitants stirred and the day’s chores commenced. The routines of ages were set and engrained, the running of the Keep moving along in its unique and steady rhythm, independent of the chaos in council chambers and audience halls. The kitchens buzzed with activity as breakfasts were prepared, the stables and kennels were a rush of horses, grooms and helpers. Maids were already scrubbing floors and stairs were being cleaned.
The warm, clear morning was proceeding like a thousand other mornings, until the screams began in the Maidenvault. By the time the steward arrived there was already a small crowd of servants blocking the door of the chambers the screams had come from, with more curious onlookers heading toward the scene as well. His heart sank as he recognized the new chambers of Princess Aenyris. Her maid Arra- wife of his own son Lyam- was being held by two others; sobs of hysteria coming from her. “Everywhere… oh gods, mother’s mercy, my lady… Gareth!” her searching eyes landed on him. “Father, you mustn’t… they can’t do this. Don’t let them near!” She might have said more but it was lost in a choking sob that sounded eerily like a wail.
“Fetch a maester for the love of the gods,” he urged one of the younger men. “And find Lyam.”
With a presence of mind from long years of service he set the gathered servants as a ring to keep the rest out and sent several boys running for the Regent, Lord Penrose, the Whitecloaks, the ArchMaester and Lord Haine. Only then did he step within the chamber to survey the horrors within.
The smell alone was enough to knock a man off his feet, but it wasn’t the first thing he felt. It was the sight that near pushed him back. The room was a wash of red. Blood slicked the stones, and great slashes of black soaked across the tapestries. On unwilling feet, unsteady as he tried not to slide in the crimson congealing gore he made his way to the bedroom, following the trail though his body and every instinct he had fought to make him turn and run.
Even Gareth’s steady nerves could not hold him as he glimpsed what lay in the bed. A glimpse of silver blonde hair in the darkening pool of blood and… thicker things... white arms outstretched as if reaching out for help but not moving… chest stilled and pale throat gashed… The blood of dragons spilling out, spilled- long drained out of her… the last of the royal family. The last princess.
Sixteen, he realized dimly. Her last nameday, just before… the queen had held a contest of singers for her quiet niece. There would be no songs now. The silence crashed in upon him. The ice cold of the realization swept through him- no longer the fires would burn, no longer the songs would hold sway.
Gareth’s knees slipped and he found himself on the floor with blood soaking his legs and tunic as he knelt before the queen who would never rule, never smile, never speak again.