These days, there are scarcely a handful of people in Westeros who have earned the Dragon Queen's recognition.
Brienne of Tarth from Storm's End, famed as the "Maid of Tarth" at the Trident, was one of them.
The old septon Meribald, who for decades had walked the Riverlands and the Crownlands on his donkey, helping peasants in misery and offering the Faith's blessings, was another.
The sly old hand in King's Landing, Strick "Unmoved by Gold," whose brown soup tavern thrived while he himself grew poorer, counted as half a one, though few knew of him.
Anyway, Marwyn the Bull-neck knew of these three, with Samwell Tarly as another half.
The Dragon Queen held great respect for Sam as well.
It was not so much for his virtue—though Fat Sam had good character too—but for his courage.
The courage to eat anything, to dare to eat everything.
Of course, Marwyn would not put it that way.
"It's true, my lord. Your son is very brave. He was actually the first man to slay a White Walker. Only after him did the Queen herself duel against more than a dozen beneath the Wall."
On the surface, Marwyn was praising Sam, but in truth, he was taking the chance to spread word of the Dragon Queen's valor and glory.
After all, he knew very well who stood before him: the most formidable general in the Seven Kingdoms today, the third great lord of the Reach.
Even if he could not win him over, at least he might plant in his heart the image of a wise and mighty Dragon Queen. Perhaps, at the right moment, it would bear fruit.
There were many tales about the Dragon Queen, but her battles with the White Walkers were rarely spoken of.
Mostly because people simply did not believe in the White Walkers, or at best half-believed. The idea of a queen dueling them sounded like a legend.
Secondly, the Wall was too remote, its news slow and distorted.
Perhaps, as more joined the Night's Watch, as Mole's Town grew prosperous with more whores plying their trade and even bards and singers gathering there, the Dragon Queen's feats would finally spread.
But Marwyn's careful plotting went to waste, for Randyll Tarly's concern had nothing to do with the Queen.
"Are you certain Sam killed a White Walker?"
The Earl of Horn Hill's face grew strange.
Could the White Walkers really be that pathetic?
If even the most cowardly man in the Seven Kingdoms could claim the first kill, then even if the Long Night were real, what was there to fear?
His men of Horn Hill were all stout warriors, each one could best twenty Sams.
"This is no secret at the Wall. Everyone calls your son the 'White Walker Slayer'!"
Lord Tarly, seeing a number of septons entering, guessed the trial by combat was about to begin. He brushed past the matter of the "Walker Slayer" and pressed on to the true reason he had sought out Marwyn.
"That child. That bastard disgraced the vows of the Night's Watch, sullied the honor of House Tarly, and even fathered a bastard with a wildling woman!"
Randyll Tarly's thin lips tightened into a blade-like line, his stony face flashing nine parts shame and fury and one part reluctant concern.
Marwyn now began to understand.
Sam had wanted to entrust the baby to his father, but was rejected, and so left the child on Dragonstone instead.
Dragonstone sat just across Blackwater Bay from King's Landing, and it stood opposed to the Iron Throne.
It was much like the tale of Zhuo Wenjun, daughter of a wealthy merchant, who eloped with the poor scholar Sima Xiangru. Her father, shamed, refused to support her.
So Zhuo Wenjun set up a tavern across from her father's house to sell wine.
With his daughter selling wine in the street, Zhuo's father could not bear the public disgrace. In the end, humiliated, he had no choice but to provide for his daughter and son-in-law.
Thus, Zhuo Wenjun secured both her marriage—forcing her father to accept what was done—and her own comfortable life.
This was the origin of the tale "Wenjun selling wine at the counter."
A true scholar's wit, far sharper than Wang Baochuan, who languished in a cold cave for years.
Well, that's a digression.
In some sense, Fat Sam had unwittingly done the same as Zhuo Wenjun.
Leaving the child on Dragonstone, shaming his father.
"My lord, are you saying…"
"Give the child to me!"
Randyll Tarly strained to keep his anvil-hard face devoid of emotion.
Marwyn hesitated. That wasn't even your grandson. Your son wasn't even properly a husband.
"And what do you intend to do with the child?" the short, stocky maester asked.
Tarly shot the "meddlesome" maester a cold glance and said flatly, "The honor of House Tarly of Horn Hill cannot be defiled. I will send the bastard in secret to a sept in the Reach, where he will live nameless as a novice of the Faith. That will be his redemption."
Damn it, I thought you meant to raise him yourself! What a waste of feeling.
Marwyn's face went stiff as he shook his head. "Forgive me, my lord. The child has already been given by the Queen to Lord Bronn of the Blackwater as his foster son."
"Bronn of the Blackwater? That mercenary who seized Stokeworth by vile means? He is worthy?" Tarly's eyes blazed cold, and he growled, "This is an insult! The Duke of Dragonstone is mocking me, mocking House Tarly!"
By "Duke of Dragonstone," the great general naturally meant Daenerys.
He did not acknowledge her claim as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, nor care for her other titles, so he referred only to her "official" Westerosi title as recognized by the Iron Throne.
Marwyn replied firmly, "Who can speak clearly of a noble house's private matters? You should look at what Queen Regent Cersei has done. Perhaps Lord Bronn's means were not honorable, but his counterstroke was forced."
"Hmph! And will his mercenary past ever vanish? What honor does a sellsword have?" Randyll Tarly said coldly.
"My lord, Bronn is your equal in rank, holding the same title. You are a chief vassal of the Lannisters, he is one of the three ministers of Dragonstone. To insult him is to insult the Queen herself!"
Marwyn was growing impatient. He was practically livestreaming for the Queen's sake!
Surely the Queen would not enjoy looking at Randyll Tarly's stone face—though in truth, she was greatly entertained.
"Maester, are you the one insulting me?"
At these words, Randyll Tarly truly felt humiliated. He, the Earl of Horn Hill, heir of the thousand-year line of Garth Greenhand, Hand of the King's Justice, the First General of the Seven Kingdoms, compared with a mercenary as an equal?
"Look at the people under the Duke of Dragonstone. A mercenary made a lord, the treacherous Darkstar made a White Knight, and that bastard Ormund Waters, who betrayed the Queen Regent… These scoundrels are the Queen's chief ministers."
"As the saying goes, when the beam is crooked, the rafters go askew," Marwyn shot back angrily. "But however crooked they may be, they follow a great knightly Queen and walk the road of honor.
You, my lord, upright and brave as you are, serve instead the very bastard you despise and hate most."
Randyll Tarly was beside himself with rage, his right hand straying instinctively to his left hip. Today he wore formal dress, no armor, no sword.
"You dare slander the King!"
"My lord, surely you haven't forgotten why we came here today?"
Facing the general's murderous glare, Marwyn did not flinch. He met it with a fierce, unyielding stare.
"The Faith will return the Queen Regent her innocence," Randyll muttered, but his confidence faltered.
"Anyone who says that is either wicked or a fool," Marwyn murmured under his breath.
"What did you say?"
"The Regent has arrived, Queen Dowager Cersei has arrived, Queen Margaery has arrived!" The monk's announcement cut off their quarrel.
Randall glared at the stocky maester, then returned to his seat.
The messenger monk naturally would not shout loudly inside the Great Sept before the Seven. In truth, Cersei and the others had only just stepped onto Visenya's Hill, but the Sept was so quiet that the voices from outside carried in.
"Whore Dowager, disgrace!"
"Whore Dowager, the Seven will punish you!"
"Long live Margaery!"
"Merciful Rose!"
"Holy Mother Margaery!"
From the square outside came the tidal roar of King's Landing's common folk.
Two women, both guilty of infidelity, yet treated in two entirely different ways.
Cersei wore a dark green velvet low-cut gown that matched her eyes, a girdle set with emeralds tied at her waist. She held her chin slightly raised, the faintest smile playing on her lips.
Margaery wore an ivory brocade dress interwoven with silver thread. The gown was long and voluminous, yet her waist was so slender it perfectly revealed the queen's alluring figure.
The Dowager Queen held the arm of Euron, clad in a long leather coat embroidered with golden krakens. The Queen walked with the Regent, dressed in a gold-and-crimson cloak.
King Tommen did not come.
The four royal figures entered without much display, accompanied only by three White Knights, no servants or maids.
Like ordinary people, upon entering the solemn and silent Sept, they first separated to pray beneath the statues. Only afterward did they rise, surrounded by nobles.
Kevan prayed to the Father. Margaery prayed to the Maiden. Euron sneered and went straight to one side.
The key was Cersei. She prayed to the Mother: Mother, have mercy, make sure Robert tears that High Sparrow into eight pieces, shred him to fragments, the more wretched the better. Best if it sparks a Sparrow riot that takes my uncle Kevan and that slut Margaery with it, just like the bread riot years ago.
Oh, and the nobles inside the Sept as well—kill half of them. Without some maimed nobles, how else could I justify summoning troops to bathe King's Landing's beggar army in blood?
Truth be told, after being disciplined by the High Sparrow for a few months, Cersei's faith level was rather high—around 1.3, above the threshold for a true believer, enough for the "Mother" to hear her prayer.
But really, praying to the Mother like this—was that truly acceptable?
Dong, dong, dong, dong, dong, dong, dong!
The bells of the Sept's tower rang out seven times.
Inside and out, silence fell. All knew that the trial by combat was about to begin.
Cersei stepped forward, flanked by Ser Meryn Trant and a Warrior's Son, and stood at the center of the Sept.
Then the two duelists entered.
Ser Robert Strong wore milk-white plate armor, his helm crested with rainbow-colored feathers symbolizing the Seven. The High Sparrow entered in plain hempen robes, followed by two Warrior's Sons carrying his armor and a silver warhammer.
Before the crowd, they dressed the High Sparrow in a stiff leather coat, overlaid with gleaming light gray chainmail, then placed a metal skullcap and a half-helm with only a nasal guard upon his head.
Compared to the White Knight clad in full steel, the High Sparrow was nearly exposed.
Indeed, his dark, gnarled, barefoot feet were left uncovered.
The High Sparrow was tall—about 1.85 meters—but so emaciated he looked like a stalk of hemp.
Yet standing beside the White Knight, who was 2.4 meters tall with legs as thick as tree trunks—
"The High Sparrow is doomed! I don't know where they dug up this Robert Strong, but he's practically another Mountain. And the High Sparrow is certainly no Red Viper.
I witnessed it myself: the Red Viper struck the Mountain ten times, yet it was never as effective as the Mountain landing a single blow on the Red Viper." Tyrion sighed, rubbing his forehead.
*(Note: During the War of the Five Kings, King's Landing lacked food. On the day Myrcella was sent to Dorne, the people cursed Joffrey as a bastard. Joffrey flew into a rage and foolishly provoked a riot.
In that chaos, the High Septon was torn to pieces by the mob, Kevan's son was cooked into brown stew, and Loras was assaulted by dozens of men, fathering a baseborn son for Bronn. Even Sansa nearly suffered, if not for the Hound saving her.
As for the High Sparrow's appearance: in the original text, he is described as tall and gaunt. Yet when he first appeared—when Dany saw him in King's Landing—I mistakenly described him as "small and thin," influenced by the TV show, where the High Sparrow is indeed a small man. But in A Song of Ice and Fire he is tall, merely lean.
That earlier chapter was a mistake. Now I wish to correct it, but cannot. As a minor author, I rarely bother editors. It's been nearly a year since I started posting this story; I only contacted him once when the backend bugged.
Only recent VIP chapters can be edited. So if you spot typos, please remind me. I may not reply to every comment, but I read them all. With reminders, I can fix them quickly. Thank you!
So once again, I apologize for the inconsistency in the High Sparrow's depiction. He is very thin, but not small—rather, tall of frame, with hard, rough hands and feet, like a practiced fighter.)*
(End of chapter)
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