Dragons Fall: Trial of Kyra Tyrell Who: Everyone. When: Day 56. Where: The Great Hall. Rating: PG-13 Status: Open to all who would listen, bear witness and of course the judges and the accused.
The great hall filled with the soft swish of silk and velvet, the air was thick with perfumes from countless exotic flowers that did not quite hide the scents of sweat and fear. Lord Tyrith Lannister, Hand of the King, Warden of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock; Lord Fairwyk Reed, Master of Laws; Ser Thomas Tully, heir of Riverrun, future Lord Paramount of the Trident: this was the tribunal who would sit in judgment of Lady Kyra Tyrell.
The room swirled with whispers as the lords and ladies in residence gathered. Would the king regent join them in the hearing? Would the lady be attainted as some of the other conspirators had been already? Some said Lady Kyra would throw herself on the mercy of the throne, and beg to be allowed to join the Silent Sisters or give herself to the faith of the Seven. Others, wiser than that, knew that Kyra was born to House Bolton- the new gods had little sway in the North. No, they said, she would stand trial silently- perhaps she would even refuse to speak in her own defense. The question of guilt or innocence entered but little into the conversations- unwitting pawn, deceptive mastermind, the victim of the regent’s ire- none could say. The more colorful whispers even dared suggest she had spurned the regent’s advances or perhaps she had not and the queen herself had caused this trial to be held. But all that had already been discussed to death within the confines of solars and winesinks- what remained now was to see how the tale might end…
On the dais beneath the Iron Throne, a single table remained draped in the colors of House Stark. Behind it sat Lord Fairwyk shuffling a pile of papers before him, looking for the world as if he would rather have been back in the library and would be heading hence in a few moments, and Thomas Tully. Between them, Tyrith Lannister remained motionless. His features were unreadable, and his green eyes were cold.
The High Septon began the proceedings- he stood and called a prayer to the Seven, beseeching the Father to guide the judges to justice. A flicker of something that might have been amusement shone in Tyrith’s eyes but it was just as quickly gone again.
“Lady Kyra Tyrell,” Tyrith leaned forward to look at the girl before them. Scarcely old enough to wed, let alone be slain for such bloody work, “did you have a hand in the death of Princess Aenyris Targaryen?”