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HOGWARTS: REGULUS LORD OF THE STARS
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American Horror: Grind Edition
Three days after the trial by combat.
"My lord, praise be to the Seven." Septon Alyse arrived from the Great Sept of Baelor, the hem of his white robe fluttering from his hurried steps. His expression was one of agitation and excitement.
"Paxter has been beheaded on the white marble plaza outside the Great Sept of Baelor."
Normally, executions were not carried out in the vicinity of the Great Sept, as spilling blood there was seen as defiling the holy sanctuary.
However, the High Septon and several Most Devout believed that executing the "God-Cursed" there would be the greatest comfort to the Seven and the faithful, so they had strongly petitioned the Iron Throne for it.
"It is finally over." Arthur let out a long breath, as if an invisible weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Since our business here is concluded, we must prepare for our return journey."
From the initial rage of learning about the burning of the Peach Orchard and Pate's death, to meticulously planning his revenge against the Arbor, to waging war against the leviathan that was the Reach, and finally navigating the power struggles of King's Landing—only he truly knew the hardships and dangers of the path he had walked.
Septon Alyse smoothed his sleeves. "When exactly shall we depart? I need to make arrangements at the sept."
"Within the week, after I bid farewell to my uncle and the Hand." Arthur unrolled a scroll. "Have you thought it through? You are truly giving up your position at the Great Sept of Baelor?"
Septon Alyse shook his head, his nose twitching slightly as if he could still smell the lingering stench of King's Landing. "The very air here carries a foul odor. It is far less pure than the Violet Canyon Sept."
Arthur shifted his gaze from the scroll to Alyse and instructed, "Then finish inventorying the religious texts granted by the High Septon, and ensure all the clergy assigned to Starfall are ready. Await my command."
When the door closed again, Arthur turned his eyes back to the scroll.
This scroll was his commission as the Governor of the Dornish Marches—a royal decree bearing the stag seal of the King and Robert's bold signature.
This was the most unexpected gain of his trip to King's Landing. Well... for now, he would call it a gain rather than a burden.
In the days following Paxter's execution, invitations from the nobles of the Crownlands flew in like snowflakes, but Arthur politely declined them all.
It wasn't until he learned that his uncle Eddard was about to return North that he personally supervised his retinue in loading the carefully selected gifts onto wagons—seven wagons in total.
Before the Gate of the Gods, the autumn wind swirled fallen leaves across the cobblestones. Jon Arryn's withered hand rested on Eddard's shoulder. "Can you not stay a few days longer?"
Eddard adjusted his saddle girth, the direwolf banner snapping in the wind. "The Stark words are Winter is Coming. My duty is in the North. Robb is not yet of age; I cannot leave the North for too long."
Jon Arryn asked, "Will you not say goodbye to Robert?"
A bitter smile touched the corner of Eddard's mouth. "I told him yesterday while he was dead drunk. He's likely still sleeping it off. If I wait for him to sober up before leaving, I'll only have to listen to him complain and curse."
"Perhaps it is for the best. Safe travels." Jon Arryn saw that Eddard was determined to leave and did not press further. He opened his arms and embraced his foster son, whose demeanor so closely mirrored his own.
Arthur noticed the Hand's knobby fingers lingering on Eddard's back for a long time, as if trying to memorize the feeling.
"Take care," Eddard's voice was slightly hoarse.
When they broke the embrace, Arthur could clearly see redness rimming his uncle's eyes.
Eddard turned to Arthur, looking at the convoy of bulging wagons, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "These... all these are the gifts you prepared?"
Arthur scratched his head, his black hair tousled by the wind. "Is it too little? It's a pity land travel is inconvenient. If we were going by ship..."
"It is enough. More than enough." Eddard patted Arthur heavily on the shoulder, looking at the nephew who so resembled his brother Brandon with eyes full of pride.
"Remember, the Dornish Marches cannot be tamed in a day. Do not be hasty. If you need anything, send word to Winterfell."
Arthur nodded firmly. "I understand. Safe travels, Uncle."
After bidding farewell to the others he knew in the party, Arthur stood by the roadside, watching the direwolf banners recede into the distance until they disappeared at the end of the Kingsroad.
On the way back to the Red Keep, Jon Arryn asked, "When do you depart?"
"Within the next few days," Arthur replied.
"Then you can take a ship of the Royal Fleet and travel with Stannis to Starfall. I have appointed him to oversee the identification of the culprits by the Peach Orchard survivors."
Arthur nodded. "Lord Stannis is famous for his justice. With him overseeing things, both sides will accept the outcome."
He had expected Jon Arryn to send Renly, but sending Stannis would have a similar effect—and it saved him the cost of boat fare.
However, remembering his last voyage to Starfall—the storms and the seasickness—his stomach gave a phantom lurch. He felt a slight resistance to the idea of sea travel.
"The Dornish Marches are situated on the borders of three lands. Do not act as aggressively as you did this time," Jon Arryn advised as they rode.
"As I told you before, seek allies to strengthen yourself. When facing disputes, uphold honor and justice. Do not be biased toward any side..."
On the way back to the Red Keep, the Hand imparted much of his experience in handling disputes, and Arthur listened humbly, nodding in agreement.
Upon returning to the inn, Arthur informed everyone that they would be returning to Starfall by sea aboard a Royal Fleet ship.
"The Royal Fleet?!" Penrose looked excited. "I've never been on a warship before!"
Cletus curled his lip. "Finally, we can leave King's Landing. I've had enough of this city's stench. Even the girls aren't as passionate as they are in Dorne."
"Is that so?" Gerold laughed and teased him. "Then why were you running to the Street of Silk every night?"
Arthur rapped his knuckles on the table and announced generously, "Before we leave, everyone may purchase seven gifts. I'm paying."
Amidst the cheers of the group, the room quickly emptied, leaving only Quentyn Martell standing by the window.
Arthur asked, puzzled, "Quentyn, you're not going to buy gifts? Is something on your mind?"
Quentyn looked a bit awkward. "I came to King's Landing... but I haven't been able to... help you much, Ser Arthur. I am truly... sorry."
Arthur understood Quentyn's meaning after a moment of thought. It was likely about the Iron Throne appointing him as Governor of the Dornish Marches.
"Prince Quentyn, there is no need to apologize." Arthur walked over and patted him on the shoulder. "Your presence here alone was the greatest support you and Prince Doran could give me. I will not forget this favor."
As expected, Quentyn let out a long sigh of relief and continued, "Regarding your appointment as Governor of the Dornish Marches... I believe it is an honor you deserve, Ser Arthur."
"However, this matter is... significant. Could you travel with me to Sunspear to speak with my father?"
"I intended to do just that," Arthur nodded. "Our voyage takes us past Sunspear anyway. Naturally, I will pay my respects to the Prince."