"Yes," "Eddard" nodded incessantly, facing all the people, but his hoarse tone could never spread like steel.
"Now, are you willing to ask the High Septon, 'God-beloved' Baelor, and the High Septon to bear witness to the truth you have spoken: that Joffrey Baratheon is the sole legitimate heir to the iron throne, and in the name of the Seven Kingdoms, he is the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and the protector of all the realm?"
"I am willing."
A stone flew from the crowd and hit "Eddard," followed by more and more stones. Blood flowed, but the guards did not let Eddard fall. There were so many stones that some even hit the guards and near the King. So two White Knights raised their shields to protect the King and the Queen Mother.
Rosso Brenn watched Eddard's confession from among the Knights. Rosso pondered whether he needed to act, not he himself, but the brothers of the Beggars Guild, but this was not the best opportunity.
"Why did Littlefinger say Stark was under The Red Keep, and this man barely dares to speak?" Rosso's heart pounded, his thoughts racing.
The High Septon, outwardly opulent and wealthy, knelt before King Joffrey and his mother.
"Because we are guilty, we suffer," the High Septon intoned in a deep, resonant voice, much louder than Lord Stark's. "This man has confessed his crimes before the gods above and men below, in this sacred place." He raised his hands in prayer, a rainbow halo shimmering around his head. "The gods above are just, yet 'God-blessed' Baelor taught us that they are also merciful. Your Majesty the King, how shall this traitor be dealt with?"
"Behead him!"
"Behead him!"
"Behead him!" the mob cried out, and Varys's heart sank.
"My mother urged me to have Lord Eddard wear the black, and Miss Sansa has also pleaded for her father many times." The King emerged from behind the iron shield, looking at Sansa with a smile. "That is the weakness of their women's hearts. As long as I am King, the crime of treason will be severely punished! Ser Ilyn, cut off his head!"
The crowd was in an uproar. They pushed forward, and Arya felt Baelor's statue sway with them.
"Your Majesty, this is the sacred Great Sept; no prisoner has ever been executed here. This is a defilement of the gods, I do not agree," the High Septon grabbed the King's cloak and shouted loudly.
"No, Your Majesty. Right now, right now, the Northmen are preparing to march." Varys was also dumbfounded, quickly gesticulating.
The Queen Mother also looked at her son, "Didn't we agree? Joffrey, your grandfather and uncle are still on the Riverlands front. Forgiveness or imprisonment, these are your powers, but right now we..."
"That is just your women's weakness." Joffrey shook his head, and then the royal executioner strode forward. This killer was tall and gaunt, like a skeleton in iron armor.
"I am not."
"I am not! You promised me!"
"I did not commit treason, Lord Varys!" "Eddard" suddenly roared, then his voice died down.
Sansa also began to scream, all sounds became a chaotic mess, completely indistinguishable, all sounds blended together.
On the high platform, Ser Ilyn Payne made a gesture, and the black and gold armored Knights immediately gave orders. The Gold Cloaks guards pressed Lord Eddard onto the marble slab, his head and chest exposed over the edge of the platform.
"No!" Arya tried to push her way through the crowd, pushing people aside, squeezing through, or crashing into anyone who blocked her path. Someone reached out to grab her foot; she swung her sword and kicked them hard in the shin. A woman fell, and Arya immediately jumped on her back, slashing left and right, but it was useless, completely useless, there were simply too many people. Wherever she glimpsed an opening, it was instantly filled. Someone was hitting her, trying to push her away. The only thing Arya heard was Sansa's scream.
Ser Ilyn drew a two-handed greatsword from behind him. As he raised the sword above his head, sunlight danced and rippled on the dark metal; the blade was sharper than any razor.
Ice, it was the Ice of House Stark.
Ice cut off a head, blood flowed, and Sansa screamed as she watched. A blood-soaked head; she caught a glimpse of it. There were some pockmarks on the right side of that head, which had been well concealed by the blackness before, but now, stained with blood, they reappeared. It wasn't her father; Stark did not have a pockmarked face.
"Put this head on a spear," Joffrey commanded.
"No!" Sansa cried, sitting on the ground, disregarding her Lady-like image. She had to play her part.
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