A Web of Lies

The King is dead, long live the king!

It was already noon, and the coronation had just begun in the Red Keep. Many high lords and ladies far and near were cramped into its throne room, and Ser Arthur Baratheon was one of them. And he wasn't happy about it.

Even Dorne is cooler than this room, Ser Arthur thought and swiped sweat from his brow. Gods be damned with their long summers and days like these. His silken tunic was designed to keep his body cool, but the Red Keep was known to be a hellhole on a warm summer day.

And it didn't do him good that the coronation of the lord Arryn was taking ages! The High Septon was talking something about the wisdom of the gods and the responsibility of a king to the gods above, to the lords beside him and to the people below, but Arthur couldn't care less. He hated the High Septon and his annoying voice with its tempo and high pitch. Arthur had hated the man since the day he had arrived to the capital.

He remembered that day well. High Septon had been sent to greet him along with some servants and soldiers, and weary from the travel, Arthur had been annoyed by the High Septon. He had started to talk and just had kept on talking and talking. Arthur had almost punched to man to the gut, but had resisted the urge.

The hall used for the coronation was the throne room where the Iron Throne was. It is an ugly piece of furniture and really a pain in the ass to sit, Arthur contemplated. The High Septon and Lord Arryn, the king-to-be, were in front of the Throne, standing few feet apart. The lords and ladies were standing all around the throne room. It didn't have many chairs or any other furniture. The High Septon was finishing his speech, and was asking everyone to join in a prayer to the gods, to grant the new king wisdom and a long, prosperous reign.

Gods, just strike them down with a bolt of lightning, Arthur prayed.

But they didn't, because they didn't listen to him, as always. They never listened to him.

Mychael Lannister observed the going-on's with mild disinterest. Next to him, Arthur Baratheon seemed to be bored out of his wits. To tell the truth, Mychael was too. The High Septon just kept droning on, and, also sitting next to him, his niece and nephew couldn't sit still and were yapping on and playing games.

He took another sip. Alcohol couldn't make them go away, but it could help. He turned to his brother Baldric, who seemed to be sleeping. His wife Alyna was talking to Lord Stark, who was on the other hand watching the going-ons keenly. To each his own.

Mychael had been to the last Targaeryen coronation when he was a boy. It had been very grand, and there had even been a Dragon present. It was a babe at the time, but nevertheless. It nearly burnt the king's beard off. That was a good ceremony, a coronation worthy of it's name. And no fucking High Septon.

Even Rickard looked bored, and he was about to be the most important person in the realm. He'd put on weight, obviously having visited the pantry several times. Mychael leaned forward. Something appeared to be happening, as the Septon had actually physically moved. This startled the children and woke up Baldric. He had taken the King's crown, and was about to place it on Rickard Arryn's head.

It was a thing of beauty. Wrought of silver, eagles and half crescent moons adorned it. The eyes of the eagles had little beads of onyx for eyes. Also given to him was his father's legacy: a Valyrian steel sword, with a black pattern welded blade, and an eagle hilt set with sapphires.

He nudged Arthur next to him. "Look, something's happening."

"Oh really, my lord of Lannister? The High Septon just crowned the king. That means we're one step nearer ending this mummer's coronation" Arthur said back to Mychael. He didn't have much love for the Lannisters, but Mychael seemed all right. He wasn't a fighter like him, but Mychael was like his lord father in many ways. Both had their noses buried deep in ledgers and reports.

Arthur was bored by paperwork, but he knew someone had to do it, because soldiers like him depended on them. Somebody had to pay the soldiers and gather money to equip them, to build the roads they marched on. His father, the lord of the Storm's End, had just been chosen to the small council to act as the Master of Coin. He must have been happy to hear that he beat the famed lion of Lannister.

"That sword is really a beauty, though" Arthur remarked. "Maybe not as good-looking as my Doom, but still a worthy blade for a king."

Daemon was sitting near to the back of the coronation, dressed in loose yellow robes. He had yet to be born when his uncle was crowned king, and this was actually his first time seeing the Iron Throne in person. He was far more interested in the titanic seat of iron and steel blades than he was in the coronation itself, and he had toned out the High Septons droning some time ago.

He finally looked around the room, trying to determine who was who in the mass of nobles attending the coronation. The Lannisters were unmistakable of course, and he thought he recognized the Starks near the front as well, but he was unsure about the rest. He was mentally making notes about who could be potential allies in Kings Landing but at the moment he didn't see anyone who he knew might be sympathetic to his cause.

His attention returned to Rickard Arryn and the High Septon when a murmur rumbled through the room and his eyes were drawn to the silver crown the High Septon was about to ceremoniously place atop Rickards head. He concealed his feelings of disgust at the ornate silver crown, viewing it as all but a direct insult to the crowns of the Targaryen kings, but despite his fury he remained outwardly calm, eyes eventually being drawn to the Lannister lord and someone he was conversing with, assuming the other man must be a highborn lord as well, due to his seating location.

"Maybe not as good-looking as my Doom, but still a worthy blade for a king."

"Certainly better than Widowmaker, Baldric's sword," Mychael jested. Baldric had taken three wives and left each one, generating controversy. Mychael called his sword the Widowmaker.

He felt like someone was watching him. He looked around the room and saw something that caught his attention. "White hair," he muttered. Unmistakeable. The lad stood taller than the others around him, with long flowing hair and... yes, purple eyes. For some reason he was wearing robes that made him look like a foreign diplomat, some Essosi or something. He was looking straight at them, and though Mychael pretended not to look at him, he saw all he was doing.

"Don't look, Lord Baratheon, but someone's watching us. A dragon."

Arthur was watching the Iron Throne and the king as he was walking up the steps to sit on the throne. He heard what the Lannister said, and felt an urge to look what he was talking about, but instead, he tried to keep his calm.

"A dragon, Lord Lannister? Are you kidding with me?" he said with a whisker of amusement. He didn't take his eyes from the king. "There hasn't been fire-breathing dragons in Westeros for almost quarter of a century, let alone a Targaryen in this hall for like fifteen years!"

Arthur had been born under the rulership of the last Targaryen king, yet he had been toppled from his throne before his tenth name day. He had been told that the Targaryens were wicked kings who drank wildfire as wine. He didn't knew about that, but Arbor gold was a much better choice.

"Just go to talk to him, Lannister, and get it over with" he said and turned to Lord Lannister. "You should get yourself introduced with him and if he's a Targaryen, then you can turn him up to the crown."

Dead. All of them were dead. Or would be anyway...

Valkor scanned the crowd with a practiced eye, one hand on the hilt of his rapier as always. If anyone would bother to look in the direction of the cowled guard at the door, they would find much more than what they expected. But he was a master at diverting attention from himself. A master at disembowling a man where he stood, and then leaving the corpse for the beasts to tear apart and devour.

However, his attention was diverted from scanning the ceremonies for anything out of place when he noticed his current liege-lord glancing at a strange man standing near the back of the room on his right. Sliding his gaze over the crowd again, Valkor made as if to stretch and let his ice-blue eyes rake across this new source of interest. A strange man with white hair and violet eyes. Some sort of diplomat by the looks. Was he trouble?

Letting his arms fall back down to his sides from his feigned stretch, Valkor lowered his head and let his gaze focus on his lord. The man was good at sensing when someone had their eyes on him. All he had to do was nod in his direction, and Valkor would tail the man out of the ceremony.

His sword hand twitched and Valkor spread his feet a little bit further apart as he braced his back against the wall, head lowered even further. To onlookers, it might seem as if he had dozed off. But his gaze remained on Lord Lannister, awaiting orders.

Somewhere outside, he heard the thunder of impatient hooves. The war-cry of a beast untamed, and screaming to be set free.

This takes even longer than king Aegon's crowning, lord Regulus thought. He didn't mind that the crowning took ages, as he had grown patient in the recent years, but his son Arthur looked like he was going to punch someone right to the face. Arthur was cut from entirely different cloth than his father, as he was an impatient and intuitive, but Regulus fancied himself as cautious and patient.

As the new Master of the Coin Regulus had had been forced to find the necessary gold and silver to fund this escapade, and it hadn't been easy to do that in the aftermath of the late king Arryn's financial "reforms" that had done more bad than good back in the day. But now those days were behind their backs. Regulus hoped that Rickard Arryn was better financier than his uncle had been, as the memory of "royal emergency taxes" still sting his heart.

"I present to you, King Rickard, the First of His Name of House Arryn, the King of the Seven Kingdoms, the Andals, the First Men and the Rhoynar, and the Protector of the Realm, from here to the Wall and Dorne! Long live the king!" exclaimed the High Septon in his high pitched voice. And every spectator in the hall answered to his call: "Long live the king!"

Finally, its over.