Send Stannis to Heaven

Mud Gate.

This was the filthiest corner of King's Landing, where the air year-round reeked of fermented fish and rotting silt.

The muddy waves of the Blackwater Rush slapped against the banks, churning up layers of oil-slicked foam.

Suleiman stood atop the city walls.

His gaze swept over the bustling crowd below.

Tens of thousands of ragged, fervent-eyed people occupied the area.

The members of the Poor Fellows were barefoot, carrying sharpened wooden stakes, rusted iron hammers, and even farm tools with stones tied to them.

The only protection on their bodies was perhaps the Seven-Pointed Star painted in red across their chests.

Amid these beggar-like soldiers stood several hundred well-equipped knights.

They polished the gleaming silver armor that had been hidden beneath the Faith for a century. Their rainbow cloaks fluttered in the foul wind. They were members of the Sons of the Warrior.

The armed power of the Faith, once outlawed by the Targaryen dynasty, had risen from the ashes amidst the Faith's armed uprising.

"Move those chevaux de frise out of the way!"

An officer of the Sons of the Warrior waved his sheathed sword and shouted at several sluggish Poor Fellows.

The gaunt men voiced no complaint. Instead, they loudly recited passages from The Seven-Pointed Star.

Like tireless beasts of burden, they worked together to lift the heavy wooden barricades.

Arwood Halton strode through the mud, splashing filth across his finely tailored noble robes.

He came to Suleiman's side without bowing or even looking at him. He merely watched the energetic members of the Poor Fellows in the distance.

"End the battle within a month. Take them home."

Arwood Halton's voice was cold, scattered somewhat by the wind.

"That message has already spread through the entire army."

Without turning around, Suleiman gave a quiet hum.

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