The Game of Cyvasse

Trial of Seven

"Are you mad?" Margaery shrieked at him, her voice ringing in the council chamber behind the throne hall. "This is ludicrous, sheer stupidity. Make an end of them, take their golden heads. Tywin, Joffrey, Cersei, the dwarf, all of the foul kin, spare them not for they would spare none of us." She clutched both of his shoulders, the fair face of the Tyrell flushed red with fury. A small throng gathered around, no face bore goodwill to his choice, so no one chided Margaery for raising her tone.

"And be the second Maegor," Aegon said softly, loath to quarrel with her or anyone else for that matter. "I deem, I can best him."

"And if you don't? If a Lannister beast cracks your helm, what then?" You can marry him; Tywin would not mind, nor would your lord father.

"There will be no 'then'," Aegon replied, lacking any of the ire she had. Tricked and deceived, the king felt hollow, as if the battle plan had fallen apart, and now he beheld the slain and gutted corpses of his comrades. Things of such a sort happened to him, shrouding him in silence, as if he speaks, the sorrow would be greater.

Sansa entered with others too.
"Her grace is right; it is foolish to heed Joffrey in any circumstance. He punishes people not out of law, but because he likes to see them hopeless," Taking Margaery's side brought no pride to the queen's face. Quite the opposite, she ignored Sansa's remark.

Measuring into her deep blue eyes, Aegon smiled, more out of anguish than joy. "I vowed to you, Joffrey will die by my hand." Everyone treats me as a tool to an end, just to forsake my honor.

"Back then, you were whole," she breathed, giving his soul a hard slap. Is the whole you crave? He could not bear to look her in the eyes. "My wish is for you to live on."

"The matter is now past dispute," Aegon declared, growing irritated by their complaints. It's foolish to retreat after accepting before everyone at court. And it's cowardly. "Tomorrow morning we fight."

"And what if you perish?" Varys probed.

"Well, honor and Gods demand that Joffrey be restored to his crown, does it not?" The answer did not gladden anyone, but Aegon went on, still giving them a dry smile. "But I advise that all of you flee from the city before seven thousand Lannister captives get their arms back."

"We hold the city and them," Rykker faltered, not relishing the prospect of explaining to Tywin Lannisters why he changed the cloak. In despair, every man beseeches the gods for salvation; when in power; he shuns them. The men glanced at Pease and Black Balaq, commanders of four thousand Golden Company men in the city. Aegon now saw that if he dies, they'll turn on each other like ants without a queen.

"Use that 'hold' well, then," Aegon narrowed his eyes.

"This Joffrey, if a brave man; his blade would fight our in battle, not hide behind the grandsire," Black Balaq mused, easing strain by pouring wine to Lymond Pease, Lord Dagos, Obara, and Lord Rykker. The ebony marksman didn't favor Garth Tyrell, so he passed him by, though both the seneschal and he looked like part of some mummer's show.

"Coward in spirit and flesh," chimed in freckle-faced Horace Redwyne.

At the table, Varys didn't share their comfort. "A trained craven, thought by the master-at-arms as any young lord would be. Armed not only with good Lannister steel but with the confidence that he can take on a weaker adversary. Lady Sansa is right; he preys upon the weak."

"Aegon is not weak," Jon cut the Spider's talk. "No training can match years of experience, which the boy doesn't have. The King is a veteran of a dozen battles, and Blackfyre shall slice through any Lannister armor."