A heavy, deathly silence filled the Throne Room. Flames flickered soundlessly in the alcoves, stretching Aegon's rising figure across the blackstone wall into the shadow of an awakening dragon.
He rose from the blackstone throne.
Firelight fell among his silver hair, illuminating his stern profile, but could not penetrate those bottomless purple eyes.
There was no anger there, no pity, only an icy calm that looked down upon all living things.
He lowered his gaze toward the foot of the steps.
Barristan Selmy, once "the Bold," now knelt on one knee with his head bowed, holding his longsword level in both hands-a symbol of glory and oaths, and a record of betrayal.
The old knight resembled a sacrificial lamb, baring his neck for slaughter, asking only for one final judgment that might free his soul.
In absolute calm, Aegon's thoughts unfolded without a sound, sharp as a Valyrian steel sword scraping bone, stripped of all personal feeling, leaving only pure analysis and judgment.
Barristan Selmy.
The fearless White Knight. A hero celebrated throughout the Seven Kingdoms. A guardian in the eyes of the common people. A man who had etched chivalry into his very marrow.
Aegon saw him with perfect clarity.
What this man had remained loyal to, what he had upheld throughout his life, had never been blind obedience to the Targaryen name and bloodline.
He was loyal to his own code of chivalry and conviction, which he would allow neither to be stained nor shaken.
His first loyalties were to the weak, the innocent, the welfare of the people, and the kingdom's fundamental order. After those, perhaps, came the lawful authority of the kingdom embodied by the Iron Throne.
Only last came the particular house, the particular name, of whoever sat upon that throne.
To the countless common