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GOT : Chapter 181
🕑 Added 2025-01-28 14:39:11 +0000 UTC
( Arianne POV )
Arianne watched the ceremony from afar, sitting down on her chair, instead of standing up like the many other lords and ladies around her. Her pregnancy had forbidden her to stand, even in the presence of royalty.
Yet, she was living a historical moment. At least, from the point of view of the maesters who would write about it many years in the future.
This time, it was not to be in a small tent, or a field in the middle of nowhere or along the banks of the Mander.
Both sides met inside the walls of Tumbleton, in front of a curious crowd, curious to see so many high lords passing through their streets.
The ceremony took place on the main square, where benches for each side had been placed. In the middle, along the great fountain showing six fish spurting out water through their mouths, landing in an ankle-deep receptacle, were the banners of each side, facing each other. Targaryen, Martell, Arryn and Baratheon on one side, Stark and Tully on the other.
Arianne was well-placed, on the northern side of the square, and could see anything coming from the southern road.
Trumpets blew, and the crowd around her stood up.
Still clutching her belly, she did not do the same.
Besides her, though, the ladies stood up. Tyene by her side, in her most magnificent blue dress, and Lady Helyse Footly, the daughter of Lord Jason Footly, on the other side. A girl of nine, she had been the only Footly left, with Lord Jason perishing below the walls of Riverrun, while her elder brother, Marq, was lost at Kinrock.
Still, she wore a white and grey dress, and stood as tall as possible, trying to show no sign of weakness in front of the dragons.
Trumpets blew again, starting the slow procession of high lords through the streets of Tumbleton.
House Baratheon was first, with the young Lady Shireen riding her horse as proudly as possible, before being helped down by a man of a house Arianne did not recognize, though he was clearly old, with a grey and white beard, and with a most peculiar sigil: a white onion on a black ship.
House Arryn came next, with Lord Harrold Arryn looking completely distraught. His golden hair was well-kept, and he had chosen his best garb for the occasion, with a blue tunic showing the white falcons of House Arryn, but his face betrayed his real emotion: that of someone who on the previous day thought himself a winner, and on the morning was defeated, despite having lost no battle. Lord Royce, by his side, was in much higher spirits, and so was Lord Waynwood.
Following them was House Martell. Quentyn, all for appearances, had chosen his most beautiful sand steed, colored in orange and red reins, his sword by his side, and a golden-red tunic that showed the wealth of House Martell. He too, had a strained face. By all accounts, he should be joyful that the conflict had come to an end, but there was no joy in his features. And, unlike the Valemen, Lord Edric Dayne and Lord Franklyn Fowler shared his gloom.
The next to come, well, at the same time, were the Targaryens. Queen Daenerys rode first, on a pale mare, her hair braided in the Eastern style, with an armor not unlike that of Queen Visenya, and a small golden crown around her head. For a small figure, she was no less impressive. Especially with the two white knights following her.
King Aegon, though, was not in such good shape. Bandages covered most of his body, and he had to be helped off of his horse. Yet, he managed to walk, with a cane, but each step seemed like excruciating pain for the young boy. He, for his part, had not chosen to wear armor but a mere red and black tunic, along with his own sword and a small, dragon-crested golden crown atop his head.
The Starks and Tullys came from the other side. Jon and Edmure came side by side, in their most beautiful outfits. Jon had chosen one of grey and white, whilst Edmure had a purple-red tunic, both with their swords by their sides and sad smiles on their faces.
All dismounted, with Jon and Edmure moving towards the center, while silence accompanied their steps. Queen Daenerys waited along with King Aegon, still leaning on his cane, with a Kingsguard helping not far behind.
The tension was palpable, especially with the four high lords behind the two monarchs, standing straight and still, in a silence that could've struck anyone.
"Who goes there?" Queen Daenerys asked.
"A leal subject," Lord Edmure replied with a haughty air.
"Whom?" Queen Daenerys asked once again.
"Lord Edmure Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, servant of His Grace, King Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name," Edmure answered with a smile.
"And Prince Daeron Targaryen, regent for Jarl Rickon Stark of Winterfell, servant of Her Grace, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, First of Her Name," Jon said in turn, in an even tone.
King Aegon spoke softly, "Kneel and be accepted into the king's peace, then."
Both knelt, though, for Jon, it likely was excruciatingly painful to do so. If not physically, at least in his mind.
"I swear to be faithful to House Targaryen, to the King and Queen, and their heirs, from this day, until my last day, and from this generation, to all the generations to come. To them, I pledge my obedience, my sword and my lands. I swear to answer when called upon, and to serve the realm to the utmost of my abilities. I swear allegiance to House Targaryen, in perpetuity. This, I swear by earth and water, by bronze and iron, by ice and fire."
Both men spoke the oath at the same time, as clearly and loudly as possible.
"Rise, then. Welcome into the Dragon's peace. Nephew, we welcome the Kingdom of the North, and its new Princely overlords, House Stark, into the fold." Daenerys spoke loudly, for all to hear. "And you, Lord Edmure, we welcome the Kingdom of the Riverlands into the King's Peace, as well as its proud lord and new Hand of the King, Lord Edmure Tully."
"I am honored, Your Grace." Edmure smiled widely as he stood.
Jon did not say a word and just rose up, his head looking towards the ground, defeated.
As both monarchs and lord shook hands, a great cheer erupted around the square, with flowers raining down and sept bells ringing loudly.
It was done.
Peace had been achieved between the two largest warring factions, and with it, the last hopes for a Tyrell or Lannister sitting on the throne had been dashed. There was naught but a few garrisons standing between King's Landing and the allied army now.
"Peace…" Arianne breathed a sigh of relief.
There were a few other formalities, but the ceremony was mostly over. Now, came the feasting.
A large feast was prepared to celebrate the end of the war and the welcoming of houses Stark and Tully in the royal fold.
The day was, unlike the previous weeks, completely sunny, if not a little cold. Not a cloud to be seen in the sky…perfect for a celebration to take place outside.
Well, outside…it was a slight exaggeration.
Outside Lady Footly's inner walls, as to not impede the celebrations in the city proper, where they were taken after a few rounds in the city to make a little tour of the conquered place.
There would be no tourney, either, to celebrate such an occasion, though both King Aegon and Queen Daenerys promised Lady Footly to organize one once the war had been won, to which the young lady only blurted out a few words about how she was grateful for Their Grace's mercy and looked forward to it.
As for Arianne…well, she did not have much of an appetite. Instead, she sat down and discussed benign things with the few ladies present, notably the Dornish warriors, or few Reacher ladies present at the feast.
Though, the most intriguing moment came when Lady Shireen came to sit next to her.
"May I sit here, Princess?" she asked in a sweet voice. "My feet are tired."
"Of course, Lady Shireen." Arianne nudged a little bit over from the sofa that had been prepared for her.
