Tonight, everything had to go his way.
And it would.
He was sure of it.
The Seven's light shone on him. It was as if they commanded him to stain his hands in sin so that the souls of millions would be saved from damnation.
Many of their Andal ancestors had done exactly that. They had brought peace and stability and civilization to the savage First Men, had torn down their heathen weirwood groves, and raised the light of the Seven in their place. They had conquered not out of greed, but out of holy purpose, to save the souls of those who knew no better.
And now, Artys felt, they faced something similar with the rise of the Covenant and their heretic king in the Heartlands.
The sorcerer who claimed to be the Herald of the Gods was spreading his corruption, perverting the faith, turning good men and women away from the Seven Who Are One. If he was not stopped, his heresy would consume all of Westeros like a plague, damning millions to eternal suffering.
Artys knew, as did many like-minded lords, that it was Harald Stormcrown who had caused the uprising of the mountain clans. The timing was too perfect, the unity too unprecedented. The heretic had used his dark magic to manipulate the savages, to turn them against the Vale, to weaken the kingdom so that it would be ripe for his Covenant's spread.
Many had died during that conflict. Good men, faithful men, knights and soldiers who deserved better than to fall to painted savages wielding crude weapons.
But it was during that war that Artys had found his fame, leading the final charge that killed the so-called Griffin King and broke the clans' resistance. The lords had sung his praises, had recognized his strength, his courage, his capability.
It was in that moment he knew, knew with absolute certainty, that he needed to be the one to lead the Vale. Not a six-year-old boy under the control of a weak woman who did not understand the threats facing them.
A woman who had gone begging for help from the heretic, bringing shame to the entire kingdom.
So yes, what he had done was right. The lords had supported him. He had been able to take power from Sharra and become regent with their backing. That was as far as most of them would go. They were satisfied with the regency change.
But Artys knew he needed to go further. To truly save the Vale, to truly prepare it for the coming struggle, he would need to commit the gravest of sins.
Yet he felt no fear of divine judgment. When he stood before the Seven after his death, when the Father weighed his soul and the Stranger came to claim him, he was certain, absolutely certain, that he would be absolved. Because he had a major part to play in the struggle against the heretic king and the heresy that was the Covenant.
The Seven would understand. They had to.
"It's time, my lord," said Ser James Tyrell, his most loyal knight, appearing at his side.
James was a man who had served him for the last decade with absolute loyalty. Born to House Tyrell, the stewards of Highgarden, he had been chased from the Reach after his affair with a highborn lady from House Gardener—the king's own niece, no less. The scandal had been immense, and James had fled north with nothing but his sword and his shame.
It was Artys who had given him a home, a purpose, a place to belong when no one else would. The man was fully, completely loyal in a way that gold could never buy.
"Nothing can go wrong," Artys said quietly, more to himself than to James.
"I have made sure that the Waynwoods will look like the aggressors, my lord," James confirmed, his voice low. "The evidence will be clear. The gods are on your side."
Artys nodded, placing a hand on James's shoulder. "You are doing a great service, James. I won't forget it. When this is done, when the Vale is secure and prepared for what's coming, you will be rewarded beyond measure."
James bowed deeply. "I owe you everything, my lord. My life, my honor, my purpose, all of it came from you. I would do this and more, gladly, if it serves your cause."
"Go, then," Artys said. "And may the Warrior guide your hand."
James departed, moving swiftly through the corridors toward his grim task.
Artys went the opposite direction, heading straight to the large solar nearby, the chamber that had been used by Queen Sharra and King Jon before.
There, waiting for him, were Lord Gerold Grafton and Lord Symond Templeton. Two lords who had remained neutral on the issue of regency, refusing to support either Sharra or Artys openly.
Many of the major lords—Royce, Corbray, Redfort, Hunter, Belmore—supported him already. But House Waynwood and their faction remained firm supporters of Sharra, which made sense given that Sharra had been born a Waynwood. They would never willingly accept his regency.
He needed Lord Grafton's support most of all. Gulltown was the Vale's largest city, its wealthiest port. Control Gulltown, and you controlled the Vale's trade, its gold, its ability to project power beyond the mountains.
And today, he would gain that, and more.
Artys pushed open the heavy oak doors and walked into the solar.
Inside were Lords Royce, Corbray, Redfort, Belmore, and Hunter, his greatest supporters. With them, speaking quietly, were Grafton and Templeton, who had only arrived at the Eyrie earlier that day.
"Lord Grafton, Lord Templeton," Artys greeted them with a warm smile. "Thank you for coming. I know the hour is late."
"Lord Regent," Grafton said with a slight bow, though his tone carried a note of reservation.
They all sat down around the large table, wine already poured into goblets.
"The manner in which all of this happened is not honorable, Lord Artys," Grafton said bluntly once they were settled. "Queen Sharra is much loved and respected among our people, especially in Gulltown. Many see what occurred as... unseemly."
"Her inaction on the matter of the Heartlands, her acceptance of the heretic's grain like some beggar, her refusal to prepare the Vale for the coming threat, these things have not gone unnoticed. We lords of the inland have noticed," said Lord Royce, raising his voice.
"The smallfolk may love her for accepting that cursed grain," Lord Hunter added with zealous fervor, "but they do not understand that she was inviting corruption into our very homes. That grain is tainted with heresy, with the poison of the Covenant. She was too weak to see it, too sentimental to reject it."
"Sentiment has no place in rulership during times like these," Lord Corbray said coldly. "We need strength, not softness."
"Now that it is done and over with," Grafton said carefully, raising a hand to calm the others, "I will support you as regent for King Ronnel, Lord Artys. The boy needs guidance, and clearly you have the support of the great lords. However..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "This talk of war with the Heartlands... my trade is already stunted due to the chaos in Essos with the dragonlords' conquest. Things were just returning to normal with Braavos. War means closing the passes, disrupting trade routes, risking our commerce for... what, exactly?"
"Aye," Lord Templeton added, his weathered face showing deep concern. "I would support you as well, Lord Artys, as long as Queen Sharra and her children remain safe and well treated. But war means levies. War means taking men from the fields. And remember, my lords, the Vale is currently facing a food shortage, and we survived disaster with help from the so called cursed grain from the Heartlands."
"We can barely feed ourselves. How are we to feed an army on campaign?"
"I understand your concerns," Artys said. "These are troubling times, and your worries are not just valid, they are essential to the Vale's future. But the Heartlands represent a greater threat than any trade disruption or food shortage."
He leaned forward, his eyes intense. "The heretic king has managed to make puppets of Queen Argella and King Loren using his dark sorceries. Loren now wars with the Reach when he should be joining us in ending the heretic's threat. He has been bewitched, corrupted, turned into a tool of the Covenant's expansion."
"The Vale and its knights," Artys continued, his voice rising with passion, "are the only pure weapon the Seven have left to use against the heresy spreading from the Heartlands. If we do not act, who will? The Reach is under attack. The Stormlands tear themselves apart. We are all that remain faithful and strong."
The lords looked unconvinced, exchanging glances with one another.
"The heretic is at his lowest point right now," Artys pressed on. "He has sent his armies to the Stormlands to support Queen Argella, who, I hear, has converted to the heresy so she can reclaim her throne through unholy magic. It will be disastrous if he gains control over the Stormlands."
He stood, pacing now. "And the heretic himself is injured, weakened from the attempt by brave septons to end his reign. This is the time to strike, when he is vulnerable, when his forces are divided."
The other lords, Royce, Corbray, Redfort, Belmore, and Hunter, agreed loudly, their voices rising in support.
"Exactly right!"
"Now is the moment!"
"The Seven call us to action!"
"Gods will it!"
Artys turned back to Grafton and Templeton. "Queen Sharra, sadly, was too weak to see this. Too disturbed to act. She has been behaving erratically for moons now, ever since the clan uprising..." He let the implication hang. "Perhaps the sorcerer is already influencing her mind, a mind filled with grief, making her unable to see the threat clearly."
Lord Royce nodded gravely. "We have all noticed the changes in Her Grace. The mood swings, the paranoia, the way she jumps at shadows. It is not the behavior of a woman in full possession of her faculties."
Grafton nodded slowly, his resistance weakening. "I have heard such whispers, though I dismissed them as gossip."
"Exactly," Artys said, seizing on the support. "She is being treated by Maester Aldis, who supports our concerns. He believes there may be some influence from the heretic, some subtle corruption affecting her mind. We cannot risk leaving young King Ronnel in the care of a woman who may be compromised."
"What of House Waynwood?" Grafton asked. "They still call for her restoration as regent. They command significant forces."
Artys's expression showed carefully measured sadness. "House Waynwood has been loyal to Queen Sharra, and I respect that loyalty deeply. But they cannot see how far she has fallen. They remember the woman she was, strong, capable, devoted, not the woman she has become. Their support for her is admirable but tragically misguided."
He sat back down, his voice dropping to something more intimate. "They would put a disturbed woman back in power, a compromised woman back in control of young Ronnel's upbringing. And that, my lords, we simply cannot allow."
"What do you propose?" Templeton asked carefully.
"I am sure," Artys said with confidence, "that after the meeting with the Queen tomorrow, Lord Waynwood will understand. He will hear from Maester Aldis about her condition. And he will realize, as painful as it is, that supporting her return to power would be a..."
Artys could not finish the sentence as a disturbance erupted outside the chamber.
Shouts. The clash of steel. Screams.
The lords all stood immediately, hands going to their weapons.
"What in the Seven Hells—" Lord Hunter started.
The doors burst open, and guards rushed in, their faces pale, breathing hard.
"My lords!" one shouted, panting. "House Waynwood's men, they've attacked! Fighting their way through, trying to reach the Queen's chambers! They're shouting about freeing Queen Sharra from traitors!"
Artys unsheathed his sword in one smooth motion.
"Looks like the lady will taste blood tonight," Lord Corbray said grimly as he unsheathed Lady Forlorn. Lord Royce drew Lamentation, his own ancestral sword.
All the other lords followed Artys's lead, weapons appearing in their hands.
They ran from the solar. More and more men joined them as they rushed through the corridors, household guards, knights sworn to the various lords, men-at-arms who had been stationed throughout the Eyrie.
They arrived in the large chamber leading toward the throne room to find carnage.
Death and blood. Bodies everywhere. Artys's men fought desperately against Lord Waynwood's forces, perhaps thirty or forty men in Waynwood colors.
"Madness," Lord Royce muttered, stepping over a corpse. "Martyn has gone mad. To attack the Eyrie itself!"
The sounds of fighting echoed through the halls, steel on steel, men shouting battle cries and screams of pain. The chaos of sudden violence had turned the ancient castle into a slaughterhouse.
They rushed through to the next chamber, and there they saw Lord Martyn Waynwood himself being cut down by three of Artys's guards. The old lord fought bravely despite his age, his sword still swinging, but he was overwhelmed. A blade took him in the side, another in the throat, and he fell.
"It's over!" one of the guards shouted, breathing hard, blood splattered across his face. "They're all dead!"
"I cannot believe it," Lord Grafton said, walking toward the corpse of the dead lord with genuine shock on his face. "Martyn... why would he do this? He was always so... so... To throw his life away like this..."
He knelt beside Waynwood's body, and beside it, the body of the lord's son and heir, also cut down in the fighting.
"We must make sure the Queen and the King are safe," Artys said urgently.
The others nodded grimly, following him as he rushed toward the royal apartments.
As they walked through the corridor, they were met by Ser James Tyrell, coming from the opposite direction. His face was ashen, his expression one of devastation.
"James," Artys called out. "Is the Queen safe? The King?"
James looked at him and, for a moment, seemed unable to speak. Then: "It's... it's Queen Sharra. And the King. And Prince Jonos."
Every lord went completely still.
"What happened?" Artys demanded.
James's voice broke as he spoke. "The Queen... she took King Ronnel and Prince Jonos. It looks like she was planning to flee with Lord Waynwood's men. When we entered the chamber, when the fighting started outside, she... she went manic, my lord. Completely manic."
He swallowed hard, even managing to bring tears to his eyes, a masterful act of mummery. "The guards tried to stop her, tried to calm her down, but she was screaming about enemies everywhere, about traitors coming for her sons, about how they would kill them all. She was holding the boys so tightly they were crying, terrified."
His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "She jumped, my lord. Took both boys in her arms and threw herself through the Moon Door. The guards tried to stop her, by all the gods, they tried. But she was... she was truly mad, my lord. There was nothing they could do."
The silence was absolute, crushing.
Lord Templeton made a choked sound, his hand going to his mouth.
Lord Grafton closed his eyes, his face going pale.
Even Lord Royce, who had pushed for Artys's regency most strongly, looked genuinely horrified.
Artys stood frozen, his expression fixed into one of complete shock.
"Show me," Artys whispered.
They arrived in the throne room, looking at the carnage, and Royce spoke, his voice trembling. "How could this have happened? How did we not see... how far gone she was?"
"She loved those boys more than life itself," Lord Templeton said, sounding lost. "How could she... even in madness, how could a mother..."
Artys gave James the slightest nod, so subtle that only someone watching very carefully would have seen it.
"What now, my lords?" James asked into the silence.
Lord Royce was the first to speak, his voice rising with sudden fury. "Do you not understand? This was the sorcerer's doing! Queen Sharra would never do this of her own volition! She would never hurt her beloved children! The heretic king did this, corrupted her mind from afar with his dark magic, drove her to madness and murder!"
The others started to agree, voices rising.
"Of course!"
"It's the only explanation!"
"His corruption reaches even here!"
Lord Corbray was the one who turned to Artys, his expression hardening with purpose.
"The Vale needs a king," he said. "The succession is clear. You are cousin to King Jon. You are strong, capable, and we have already chosen you."
Lord Royce stepped forward and spoke. "The gods have made their will clear. The crown is yours by right and by necessity. The realm cannot be without a king, especially not now."
And then, standing in the blood of Waynwood's men, Lord Royce knelt.
Lord Corbray knelt beside him, Lady Forlorn laid across his knees.
One by one, the others knelt. Hunter. Belmore. Redfort.
Even Grafton and Templeton, after a moment's hesitation, bent their knees.
"The heretic has drawn first blood," Lord Corbray said, his voice ringing. "Royal blood. Innocent children dead by his dark sorcery. Lead us, my king. Lead us to war. Lead us to vengeance."
"Rise," Artys said quietly, and there were tears streaming down his face, tears of perfect stagecraft, or perhaps he was caught in the moment. It was impossible to tell. "Please, rise."
They stood, watching him.
"I did not seek this," Artys said, his voice breaking. "I only wanted to protect the Vale, to protect Ronnel, to help Sharra recover from her grief. This... this is tragedy beyond measure."
He closed his eyes, seeming to gather himself. When he opened them again, they were hard with resolve.
"But if the Vale requires it of me, if the realm needs leadership in this darkest hour, then I will bear this burden. I will be your king. I will lead you against the heretic who has brought this evil upon us. I will avenge Queen Sharra, King Ronnel, and Prince Jonos."
The lords proclaimed him king in a throne room that reeked of death, and none of them knew the truth of how this night had truly unfolded.
A crown claimed over the corpses of children.
A blood coronation.
.
.
.