Storm’s End had been bathed in blood, though only for the nonce-- soon another storm would come to wash the blood away, and if the Seven were good they could paint the walls again with the blood of Orys Baratheon and his horde.

Ser Pearse Wensington did not hold the men who tried to open the gates on Theodan’s order in contempt, but those arrayed before him were, as far as he was concerned, traitors. They would die traitors’ deaths.

The traitors stood arrayed on the parapet over the gatehouse, their hands and feet bound. Loyal men, most in Baratheon surcoats, guarded each of them. Only one was a lord, however, Lord Richard Morrigen. As was his right, he would not hang with the knights-- he chose to have his head struck from his shoulders.

One-by-one the conspirators were pushed from the parapet, the nooses about their necks snapping tight as they reached the end of their journey. From their necks hung signs-- “Orys’ Whore”, read most, others stated more bluntly “Traitor” and “Coward.”

Names were read out, crimes enumerated for the battle-hardened men assembled beneath the walls. To Ser Pearse's left was the last pair of men on the parapet. The Baratheon knight read out, “Ser Aron Kellington, you are charged with betraying your oaths to House Baratheon, your countrymen, and your King. You have been sentenced to die by hanging. Have you any last words?”

Ser Aron Kellington, bound hand and foot, spat on the ground. His guard delivered an elbow into his back, and Kellington fell from the walls.

Snap!

The last man standing was Lord Morrigen. A headsmans’ block was made of a particularly thick log of wood, and sat on the ground before him. Ser Pearse stood to his side, hand on his sword’s pommel. All eyes in Storm’s End were upon them. Silence but for the sound of carrion fowl lay across the assembly like a thick, suffocating blanket.