Life in Storm’s End had returned to some semblance of normality. Fortunately Prince Erich had stayed atop many of the minor situations that would otherwise have required the King’s attention. So it was that he had little in the way of domestic affairs on his mind upon holding open court for the first time since his return.

The men-at-arms, his more permanent castle guard, shuffled any petitioners through the gates and into the throne room, a cavernous stone chamber lit by a dozen braziers and several tall, narrow windows. Golden banners of House Durrandon hung beside the windows, and streamers of gold and black hung from each of the six pillars lining the path to the throne. Despite the color and the fires the room still felt dark, however, with long shadows cast by the pillars and the ceiling scored black by many generations of Durrandons burning wood and coal within.

The room was itself rather warm, as a result, and many of the courtiers and even the few Councilors in the room had sweat beading on their brows. Ladies fanned themselves, men blotted their faces discreetly with cloths that they jammed back into pockets. People often found little to do in the castle-- so it was that the King holding court became a draw. Much gossip and even some intrigue could be born from events such as these.

The first petitioner was, unsurprisingly to the King, a septon. The elderly man knelt before his liege and gazed determinedly at the ground about four feet in front of the throne. “Your Grace.”

“What is it you seek, brother?” Durran asked, gesturing for someone to stand the man up.

Two men-at-arms helped the septon to his feet, which he spoke soft words of thanks for. “Your Grace, I have ventured long from Felwood to speak with you. I have heard heresies whispered, terrible heresies. There are those in Felwood who preach divisionism. I fear it is traders from the Reach who spread it, wayward souls who know not the poisons they speak.”

Durran cocked an eyebrow, grunting. “I shall inform the Order of the Bolt and Blade to send a patrol to Felwood, then. They will root out this heresy and put a stop to it before any damage may be done. Any man caught spreading this madness will have his tongue out, that he may never spread them again.”

“I thank you,” the septon said, making as if to bow again. “Noble King, your leadership of the Faith is without compare.”

They always heap too much praise upon me, Durran thought disinterestedly. He waved to dismiss the man, receiving the praise with customary humbleness. Seven hells, I’ve heard it all before.

“Who is next?” Ser Robert Swygert called, beckoning for the next petitioner to be lead into the room.