The curtains were pulled away and out stepped his grace, beautifully covered in eloquent robes of blue silk and golden figurines depicting folklore on every inch of the silk. The crowd gathered stopped their idle conversations immediately and laid all eyes on the new prince. He held a brave face, all things considered. His body still appeared a boy. He had not fully grown into his royal gown. Finely trimmed facial hair grew in where the hair had been freshly shaved the day prior. His hair was tussled thickly about his head. His jaw held firm and his eyes narrowed as he gazed among his people. The sun hung softly in the sky as he spoke.

A line of guards in emphatic armor and long spears stood to either side of the prince. An archer each stood back by either side of the curtains. A couple wild men were being detained from the crowd after attempting to throw rocks and various fruits. One man felt the full force of a fist followed by a dagger driven through his stomach. His eyes widened and blood foamed at his mouth, and he was tossed aside. The crowd had not seemed to notice.

Children clung onto their mother's arms and families ushered their way in towards the platform, fear in their eyes. Back on the stage, the guards made way, the prince stepped aside, and out stepped the head of the city watch, Ser Gavin Heirwood. He carried himself strongly, his silver-plated armor gleaming cleanly.

"As head of the city watch, I am privileged to speak with the great people of Fereton. As many of you know, we are living in a new era—and an uncomfortable time at that. Many of you are fearful, and that is okay. We are all fearful, it is inevitable. After the death of the King, and many others close to him, we are striving to move forward as a people. It is understood from word by raven that there are no longer any kings left in the western hemisphere. Beyond the meadows, we do not know what lurks and what has overtaken."

Many of the crowd had begun to hang their heads. Children watched on unabashed, blissfully ignorant as children often are. Ser Gavin Heirwood's eyes spotted a couple of women retreating as he spoke.

"We will move forward through this difficult time, just as we have in the past—" he was interrupted "How exactly do you plan to do that?" an angry voice came from a man standing in the back. A few murmurs of agreement surfaced through the crowd.

Ser Gavin paused before responding, "There are already plans in place by the leadership—" he was interjected again, this time by multiple shouts.

"What leadership?" this time a woman raised her fist.

"The King is gone, is he not?" yelled another.

"Some say the era of kingdoms is gone! The Adrossi will end our reign soon!"

Ser Gavin tried to raise his voice above the crowd, "THE WAR IS OVER, WE WILL REBUILD AS WE ALWAYS HAVE!" He was drowned out and arguments raged across the crowd gathered. Gavin looked to the prince for support, but he was only met with an equally lost look. Guards started to push through the crowd, but it was no use. The guards were met with abuse from the citizens and the prince tried to stop the guards, but it was too late. Two angry villagers had to be subdued with the blunt of a spear from a guard in order to finally end their threat. They had attempted to throw a knife at the Ser Gavin, but it had landed inches from his toes. A woman had been screaming abuse at a guard and then tried to throw her child in front of her as a shield. Resultingly, the guard had accidentally slammed the child with the dull end of the spear, and then he was forced to retreat before the posse that surrounded the women swarmed him and swallowed him into the crowd. More guards appeared and struggled to keep the crowd away from Prince and Ser Gavin. A circle of knights with shields up surrounded the Prince as rocks clattered against their shields.

The night approached as the sun crept below the horizon. It took some time, but eventually the guards returned to the stage and away from the crowd. Prince Arynda was whispering with Ser Gavin when another man came from behind the stage curtains. He was dressed as a simple villager, but he approached Prince Arynda with a slip of paper and an air of shyness. He quickly dropped off the slip into the Prince's hands and slipped away back off the platform. The Prince showed Ser Gavin and the two exchanged words, struggling to hear each other over the rioting of the crowd.

Prince Arynda unsheathed his sword from its scabbard and raised it to the sky—an aesthetically incredible sword and blade. The sound of the metal scraping from its scabbard was enough to get the attention of a small portion of the crowd. Slowly members of the crowd grew quiet and stared in fascination at the young Prince who stood with his lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed, and the blade of his father's sword held high in the air. He stood a while before speaking. A quiet grew over the crowd. Many held their cloaks and furs closer as most of the warmth of the evening had left with the sun.

"My father died as good a king as any during the long war that has passed. But we are not the only ones to face such tragedy. Looks across to the west, and empires and kingdoms are in shambles. It is not easy. We grieve my father's death—the death of one of our greatest kings. Many of you have losses of your own to grieve over. We lost over half of our people. This war has cost many of us everything that we have, including our homes, our loves, and our own identity."

The Prince dared not show any weakness now, he finally had the attention of the people. He hoped he knew where he was going with this, because he was treading a fine line now.

"I know I am young, and I have much to learn, but we will reach out to the western borders and ally with our neighbors. This is a different time than any other time in history—" He had spoken too much, he knew it. It was too late; Barry the Blacksmith was pushing his way forward and cupping his hands around his mouth. He always had something slanderous to speak from that loud mouth of his.

"Your father was a coward and he hid. We never met our enemy on the battlefield. All I ever hear is that half our army starved to death before we even fought. History always repeats itself, and you're no different than your father, kid."

A few agreed in support but as Prince Arynda scanned the crowd he saw a variety of different emotions. He began to feel angry. He had to lay down the law. He wouldn't sit idly by whilst treason went on before his eyes.

"Ser Gavin, give me his head." The crowd gasped. No one said a word.

"I will not stand for treason. I am nothing like my father."

The Prince felt the hairs on his neck rise, but the adrenaline coursing through him gave him courage. Yes, this felt right. These people need to know. I am not my father. Ser Gavin glanced sideways on at the Prince, and for a moment the Prince feared rejection. He held his breath.

"As you please, my King." The crowd stared for a moment. And then fists raised and shouts of "off with his head" rang through the air. Prince Arynda seized the moment, "I am your King now. My father is dead. The Era of the Last Kings has lasted a fortnight. But that is finished. Fear me, I do not hold back. May your treason be my inauguration, as King of the West, I hereby sentence Barry Borsforth to death on account of treason."

In minutes, Barry the Blacksmith found himself on his knees in front of the gathered crowd. This is what the restless crowd needed. They need to see bloodshed. They need vengeance on someone. It was the only way. Lord Barry stood upon his knees facing the crowd. His stubborn nature showed on his face, no fear or shame.

He began to yell, "You will remove my head with the blade I created. You remember this you bloody fool, this is your first mistake as King."

The guards shoved a gag in his mouth, and his hands were bound tightly. The crowd continued chanting, "off with his head. Off with his head. Off with his head."

Ser Gavin withdrew his broadsword. A work of fine craftsmanship from none other than Lord Barry. This felt wrong, thought Ser Gavin. Barry the Blacksmith had been a legend of the kingdom since the early days. He had a wild mouth, but it had never landed him in trouble that he couldn't get out of. It seemed as though this would be the day—Ser Gavin pursed his lips and cocked his head, let's get this over with. Gasps from the crowd. Prince Arynda knew he couldn't remove his gaze, he must watch.

"If you're not like your father than do it yourself." The voice came from somewhere to the side of the stage. Ser Gavin froze and so did Prince Arynda. Silence rippled through the crowd as necks craned to see who had the audacity to speak such a thing. Heads turned to face an older man with a large hat covering his eyes and part of his nose. His robes were extremely long and covered his limbs. Members of the audience began murmuring agreement with the mystery man.

Prince Arynda narrowed his eyes, "And who are you? Treason like that requires that you should be up here with our traitor." The figure removed his large, pointy hat to reveal a bald, weathered face. His skin ran thin along his narrow, pointy face. His skin appeared to group together at his forehead where the creases waved across. Prince Arynda frowned, the face looked oddly familiar, but he couldn't place where. Sweat run down his face, the whole situation was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

"Easy there, just calm yourself my lord prince."

"I am King Arynda, and how do you know my father?"

The crowd began to whisper again, and others were yelling to throw the old man up there as well. Others yelled for King Arynda to do the execution himself. One man from inside the crowd hurled a rock towards King Arynda's head and it passed by dangerously close. The guards quickly stepped in front of him seconds after, but King Arynda pushed them away.

"I WILL HAVE SILENCE!" The audience calmed some, but whispers continued.

"This is a ceremony between the people, and their new king. Please, leave it be. And we'll catch up on stories about my father another time."

He had turned to resume proceedings, but the old man persisted, "I come with urgent news. Do not turn me away, I have come to fill a piece of the missing prophecy."

"We'll take folklore and fairytales later wise man, unless you want to get up here and have your head split from your body like the blacksmith here." He huffed a snort of frustration and turned back to his task.

"You must listen now. There has been a mistake about your father. Terran—" he was cut off and King Arynda motioned for the guards to sweep him away. "Chain him, I'll see to him later. Curse the man who mocks me and my father."

King Arynda shouted the command again, Ser Gavin raised his sword above the head of the screaming blacksmith. Yet again, before the execution could begin, guards from the gate towers shouted from the ramparts, "Riders! We've got riders!"